



-A i 

• *■;: i 

Lf v«/ 


,»*?■' ~i"**l'‘ w - -4 ■ - r ~ «j -w -f 

^C^S'C'Ciri r* 

j' 1 

ing 



|3f ryf ,Sr 


: 1 :.ij:Xx^ 




OOC5C 

— 

3^J3^3 fc S-^'^LA. 



‘'▼t*** vl*~ W " 

_* •; ' 

|r T »■ % -- 1 r - J -« 


1 4 




*viW'*-'*'*i** 9 n 

s? 

wwwafe 

i- tft mi 

’,...; i 


■ i J | S 

3 QEy jj 1 





i 

■ 





'"•r* 'f ~i w < "i 

HffiK NOB 




mnn 

- ■ 

,i -4. ~ 

^•r *t( **T - 

• ■/* 


SSoc 

/-** -'>.| 
idc 

tt2fccsc^ iOC 



H r j . 

gr£r^^^ 


Vr^* 

^ PI 

.,-4 .-4 «— 1 .. 

';i t i'\ 
*****&*• 

•/’ ^r*^‘ Y*^ *r* 

Y‘ -r 

p .( / 


'/■’ 


r j 




g2C 


» W ^ 1 P 


•j* 





"i. / " 

- 


^.*1 . i 











\ 












IAN OF THE ORCADES 


BY THE SAME AUTHOR 


Large Crown 8vo, Handsome Cloth Binding, 
Price 6s. net. 


The Collected Poems of 
Wilfred Campbell 

‘ ‘ Patriotic in a high degree, and much of his occa- 
sional verse is lofty and sustained. ” — Scottish Review. 

“ The foremost living Canadian poet. . . . He writes 
because of a great impulse to sing about many things, — 
full-hearted, high-spirited poetry, often trite and imita- 
tive, but always marked by indomitable vigour. . . . 
As delightful in form as it is fresh in inspiration. . . . 
Mr. Campbell is too genuine a Canadian not to be a 
true citizen, and some of his patriotic verses are as good 
as anything we have seen of the kind.” — Spectator. 

“ He has great gifts, and, we hope, a long career in 
front of him. In days when the stream seems to be 
running dry in the old country, we are all on the watch 
for a new poetry from the new countries, and Mr. 
Campbell comes to us with both promise and perform- 
ance.” — Westminster Gazette. 

“The verse is strong and vigorous, characterised by 
much insight into Nature — especially Nature in the great 
elemental moods she reveals in North America. . . . 
High national spirit, conspicuously devoid of spread- 
eagleism, which animates Mr. Campbell’s patriotic verse, 
is of good omen for Canada.” — Violet R. Markham 
in the Outlook. 

“I wish to call my readers’ attention to ‘The 
Collected Poems of Wilfred Campbell.’ This Canadian 
poet has sung the larger songs of Britain, whose echoes 
vibrate over the whole Empire; but it is perhaps in 
his ‘Lake Lyrics’ that one catches in all its purity 
the interpretation of what the Dominion means to her 
children.” — T. P.’s Weekly. 

“These songs come from the banks of the Ottawa 
river ; they bring a gift to London ; they merit a glad 
hearing in England. . . . Every page among the three 
hundred of the volume tempts one strongly to quotation. 

. . . This volume of Collected Poems is a work which 
should become as well known in England as across 
the Atlantic. England should cherish so true poet of 
Empire.” — Standard , London. 





' FM/ ' 


"Wli & 













$OPI 

*»■ A 


Frontispiece . 


See page 47. 


Ian of the Orcades 




IAN 

OF THE ORCADES 


OR 

THE ARMOURER OF GIRNIGOE 


BY 

Vl ;VU a wv WILFRED CAMPBELL 

*% 

AUTHOR OF 

“THE SAGAS OF VASTER BRITAIN ,f AND OTHER POEMS 


With Illustrations by 
ROBERT B. M. PAXTON 



New York 



Chicago 


Toronto 


Fleming H. Revell Company 

London and Edinburgh 


































































V 










O \ SCc 
• < 0 ^ 
























♦ 











X 1 o ^ ^ 

























«* > 


« 

• « 


« C> 
























HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF ARGYLL 


“IAN OF THE ISLES” 

MY CHIEF, KINSMAN, AND FRIEND 
THIS VOLUME IS 
AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 


Dalchenna, Inveraray 
19 th August 1906 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


THE MAN WHO HELD THAT LITTLE COMMUNITY OF SOULS 

in the grip of his steel gloye . . Frontispiece ' 

PAGE 

there betwixt us stood the priest . . .36 

THEN SHE WENT FORWARD ... TO RECEIVE HIS PARTING 

salutation . . . . . .216 

CRYING, “TAKE THAT, THOU DOG OF AN EARL,” FLUNG 

THE CONTENTS OF HIS FLAGON IN MY FACE . . 304 / 



7 



IAN OF THE ORCADES 


CHAPTER I 

“ A noble house of noble age, 

Of high and mighty line.” — A non. 


TTOLL fifty years have come and gone with their 
mirk and shine, their seed-time and harvest, 
since the first of the matters indited in these writings 
came into my life. Yet it seemeth but yesterday that 
I was a boy, with the wind of the sea and moor in my 
face, and the dim, unformed hopes of youth in my heart 
and mind. 

That mine is a sad tale is not of mine own making, 
but is even the work of a greater One who showeth His 
might in the vast seas and the hushed tempest ; and if 
there be anything of ill on my part in the events and 
scenes herein described, may my children and my 
children’s children forgive, as Heaven forgiveth, the one 
who hath stumbled in darkness not only of the flesh, 
but even of spirit and heatt. 

Ours is a great house, and to it have come great 
storms, yea tempests, that have shaken and swept as 


10 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


God sweeps the hills that tower, while the glens and 
straths are protected in shelter. This hath ever been 
the history of our whole land of Scotland, from the days 
of my great ancestor the Bruce, and long before, wherein 
the mighty have fallen or have seen much ill, while the 
poor and humble have waxed strong in condition and 
spirit. 

As far back as man can remember, our ancestors 
have held these wide possessions of mountain and moor- 
land, strath and bay, and wild islands of the Orcades ; 
and ever slowly but surely one by one have they dwindled 
from kingdom to principality, principality to earldom, 
until some time, not in my day, nor perchance my 
children’s children’s day, it may please God that this 
ancient stronghold, Girnigoe of the Cattynes, stand 
waste and desolate, and the stranger sit in the place of 
command, while the heir of an ancient line is unknown, 
forgotten, and in a far country. Such doth it some time 
seem to me shall come to pass, that is, when the great 
sadness cometh over me of darkness and dream which 
some call the cloak of second sight, a gift or malady of 
blood inheritance in our family, but which, methinks, 
cometh rather in my case from the long hours of lone 
broodings which held me in the dark days of my blind- 
ness, before once again I began to see dimly the face 
of beloved and friend, of sky and great water, of 
mountain and sun. 

But I must to my tale, for there is much to relate, a 
heavy account to make, and a dark road to follow, with 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


ii 


burden of ill and sorrow to innocent and guilty, as is 
ever in this strange and mysterious world. 

My earliest memory dates back to a time when I was 
an eerie lad with an old heart in a young body, like an 
old sword in a new sheath, who dwelt with an unhappy 
lady, my mother, in a rude stone sheiling on the rugged 
end of a strath, which lieth somewhat to the south 
beyond the castle. Here we were attended by an old 
woman and her husband, an aged retired forester, and 
here I dwelt, a lone child, cut off from my kind, with 
but half a mind for play and a great love of dreaming, 
companion for the most part to the glen wind and the 
voice of the sea, which ran, a shining blade, in the land’s 
lap before my home. 

There were few who came to see us in the lone glen 
where we dwelt, save a stray traveller, or a mountain 
deer-man to consult with Murdo Morrison or Murdo of 
the Glen, as the old man was called, who in his day and 
time had been a king’s huntsman — though now long 
waxed past his prime — for his fame for knowledge of 
woodcraft and venery was great in the land. 

Saving these, we were shunned and alone, as though 
we had been under ban of Mother Church. Scarce a 
woman or child entered our glen, and the slow knowledge 
I gained of the world was gleaned from the far glimpse 
of a lonely, solitary sheiling, in some glen apart from 
ours, or the passing of mighty and humble, with flash 
of pennon or dusty garb, to and from the great castle 
beyond. Old Murdo was but slow of speech and sparing 


12 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


with his words, but I liked him in my way, though I 
could never feel that he was of my kin. Less did I like 
his wife, Annas, an old woman of much piety and human 
activities, who, by but or ben, gave me nor other any 
peace with the clatter of her tongue day or night till a 
merciful fate took her to her fathers for their ill and the 
world’s good. I will not say but that she loved one 
person — my mother — the single soul in this world whom 
my childhood clung to, loved, and wondered at, as a 
being out of place and out of the world’s mind, shut off 
in that weird, outlandish place ; for she was what the 
world calls a great lady, and, from what my childish 
heart read in the old woman’s words at stray times, a 
wronged and ill-fated one. I read this even more truly 
in my mother’s face, and, child as I was, I read with it 
death and a broken heart as plainly as sea and wind 
have graven ruin and age into the face of our ancient 
mountains. She was ever ill and wasted, like one 
eaten by some slow disease which disfigures not while it 
slowly grasps its victim, but which ever made her more 
beautiful and noble looking. For she was a beautiful 
woman, if a sad one, and I never wearied of gazing into 
her face and of holding her hand when she would have 
me about her, for she preferred that I should be out of 
doors and grow strong and some time be a man and 
avenge her woe. So I would go forth and clench my 
teeth and my boyish fist, and tell the mountains and 
the sea what ill would come to those who had made her 
spirit ache and her heart break when I were once a man. 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


i3 


Thus time went on until I grew to be a sturdy boy — 
one not ill-favoured in limb and feature, but silent and 
moody and full of whims, from being much alone, with 
somewhat of that ruggedness from simple fare and much 
outdoor life such as comes to those who dwell in these 
northern straths. So I dwelt with my childish fancies 
and my mother’s sorrows in the vague imaginations of 
childhood, nor ever dreamed that I had a father in the 
world beyond, or out of it. 


CHAPTER II 


T HE telling of this tale will be but a slow and laborious 
task, as I am but a poor clerk, though my noble 
mother, God assoil her, in her moments of strength, 
when the disease was light upon her, strove to put 
some of the knowledge of letters into my head. Father 
Angus, however, hath since told me that a woman hath 
no gift for such work, yet it seemeth me that what I got 
of knowledge from my mother sank deeper into my 
heart than all the cunning lore of the wily priest, and 
his crooked subtleties of thought and action. 

That time, as I afterward came to know to my poor 
sorrow, and as all Scotland now knoweth, was the day 
of the weak rule of my godly, but scarce kingly, royal 
cousin John Stewart, commonly called Robert the 
Third, and the ill he got, he, and his sad-fated son, 
David of Rothsay, whose fortune seemeth much like 
mine own, with a dreader ending, at the hands of the 
cruel and bloody Duke of Albany. It is not, however, 
for me to deal with that matter here, as this history is 
but a crude tale of mine own part in those evil days of 
a weak king and an ill counsellor, though what I suffered 
at the hands of mine evil cousin, the cruel Albany, and 

14 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


i5 


the knowledge it hath been my fate to glean of this 
strange man’s nature and attitude toward God and 
• man, even towards his own king, shall be related in its 
proper place. Meanwhile, remote from the world of 
courts and castles, their great splendour and greater ill, 
I passed the short years of my early boyhood shut out 
in the loneliness of this northern strath, with the voices 
of sea and land to speak within mine ears, and the 
ghostly fingers of sea-mist and mountain rains to touch 
me with their close affinity of sadness and spiritual 
dream, until I became as it were a part of them ; all of 
which hath had influence on my spirit ever since, when 
an event happened which changed my whole fife 
and opened up the door of a darker and more woeful 
existence. 

That winter, the first that lieth heavy on my mind, 
because of the dread spring which followed it, being as 
I understand the fifteenth year of my boyish existence, 
was a hard one v/here all are hard and cruel in these 
northern wastes that face on the anger and wrath of the 
North Sea. There was much suffering in glen and 
strath even to the southward, and the poor towns to the 
eastward of the extreme of our shire called the Cattynes, 
but among the poorer in the upper straths it was a bare 
existence at best, and had it not been for a secret know- 
ledge of venery, the nearness of mountain woodlands, 
and a high and enduring spirit, few would have been 
in the flesh by the season of the Shrovetide. In our 
mean household, however, there seemed naught in our 


i6 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


plain way ever wanting, and it hath since come to my 
knowledge that we were as fortunate in this matter as 
we had been unfortunate in our other relations to the 
world about us, in that we were secretly provided where 
others went in want. Up in our strath the snows came 
so deep, and the storms blew so hard, that, rugged as 
I was by my continued life in this climate, yet I found 
it for many a day difficult to get beyond our drifted 
doorstone, and many a poor wild creature was found 
stiff and stark when the rude gale went out to sea and 
left death in its snowy shroud mantling our northern 
coasts. 

But this dread season had a more evil influence on 
the disease which held my poor mother, and though she 
lingered beyond the time of storm and snow, and lived 
to see the first leaves put forth their greenness, yet it 
was but the time before the end. One day in the late 
spring the end came, and that event, at once sad and 
strange, happened, which killed my childhood and 
opened up to my untutored nature a new knowledge of 
my rights and their relationship to the base intrigues 
and ambitions of a wicked world. 

Well on in the afternoon of a fine day, I had gone 
with a fairly light heart up the greenness of the strath, 
whistling to my dog as a boy will where sorrow, heavy 
though it may be, can lie but a light weight on the 
innocent heart of childhood, when of a sudden I heard 
a call, and looking back saw the old man Murdo hobbling 
slowly toward me with the word that I was wanted. 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


17 


There was a look upon his face and a sob in his voice 
which made my heart to turn cold and my brain to spin 
round, for I knew that the dread hour had come which 
I had long expected ; and dumbly, like a wounded 
animal, I followed at his heels and re-entered the cottage. 
The room or part of the sheiling which my mother and 
I occupied was long and low, and but little better, save 
for some few matters, than that commonly allotted to 
the peasantry ; and there, on the rude couch where she 
had so long reclined, lay my mother, with the look of 
death on her beautiful face. By her side there stood 
a strange man in the garb of a priest, whose strong yet 
sinister face darkened at sight of mine like the quick 
shade made by wind on water. I waited not because 
of him, though my mind seemed to take him in with but 
an ill liking, but rushed to my mother’s side, where her 
poor wasted face sought mine and her worn fingers 
clutched at the coverlet. 

“ Mother ! mother ! ” I cried ; “ leave me not, oh ! 
mother ! ” 

4 4 My poor bairn ! my poor friendless bairn ! ” she 
cried ; and her hand shook so that the jewelled cross 
she held, the only thing of value she had ever possessed 
to my knowledge, fell from her grasp. 

“ Daughter, or rather cousin, I should say,” spoke 
the sinister priest, 4 4 it is written that for their sins the 
great have been brought low and the mighty humbled, 
but make thy peace with God, and I will see to it — 
indeed, the Mother Church will see to it— that justice 


i8 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


shall be done, and that he who hath wrought this shall 
eat of the price of his sins in the day thereof.” 

“ Speak not of him ! ” cried my mother, starting up, 
and a faint tinge coming to her cheek. “But did I 
know, Father Angus, that thy love for my son’s rights 
were as great as the hate you bear him who hath done 
all this, I would die easy.” 

“ Yea, madam, an ’twere a great love to be so great,” 
said the priest. “ Yea, I swear it.” And he clutched 
the cross where I knelt at his side. 

“Nay, nay, not that,” cried the dying woman, “ for 
fear worse ill may come. There hath been too much 
sin already, but swear fealty to him who is the head of 
thy house, and I will die content.” 

At that he stood up and went white, then red, and 
a dark look followed like that he had worn when I first 
entered. Then he said, slowly and sternly, “It is a 
hard task you set me, madam. Evil as I have been, it 
is too much. Ask me all but that.” 

At this my mother half rose in her couch and a red 
spot came in either cheek as she said, “ Then take the 
curse of a dying and a wronged woman, one ye have 
helped to wrong ! ” And I marvelled much and shrank 
back in my sorrow, for my mother had ever been a 
gentle woman. 

“ I will do it ! ” he said, with a strange side-look at 
me. “ I will do it, partly for the fealty, partly for the 
vengeance.” 

“ Then God assoil ye, Angus, for the wrong done me. 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


19 


The vengeance may burn out, as hates and loves do in 
this world, though I wish him no wrong who is, who 

is ” Here her voice broke. “ But I know you will 

be true to this oath.” 

“The vengeance will never die,” said the priest. 
“ But fear ye not, my lady ; I will keep the oath.” 

Then a strange thing happened, which I marvelled 
at greatly, and for a long time after it gave me deep 
thought. 

“Ian,” said my mother ; “ Ian ” — and there was 
a strange tone as of pride in her voice for the first time 
in my memory of her — “ Ian, my son, stand up.” And 
much wondering, and in great sorrow, I gat me to 
my feet. Whereat this great priest — because, for all 
his ill look, he was a handsome man, and stately, and 
looked to be one fit for command — got him on his 
knees to me, as I had never seen any do, save to God. 
And as I marvelled, not without fear, my mother said, 
“ Ian, give him thy hand.” Like one who hesitates, 
I paused, and then stretched forth my small hand, 
which he took and carried to his lips, which act made 
me wonder the more that he should so demean himself 
to a poor mountain boy raised in a sheiling. And I 
marvelled the more because, his face being partly 
turned from my mother where she lay, there still hung 
on his looks that evil, cruel smile, as of one who would 
play, as I learned afterward, at mock courtiership. 
At the time, however, I but saw and understood in 
my boyish way, and feared, knowing not why. And 


20 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


it seemed to me that the man knew how much I read 
him, and what I felt, and enjoyed it in his own evil 
way. Not that the scene was not all solemn enough, 
for, though I was ignorant of the matter, I could not 
but feel that it had to do with something strange in 
our lives, and this made it all the more dreadful. 

“ Angus,” said my mother, after gazing at the priest 
in silence for some time, “ Angus, wilt thou be true 
to the fiar of thine house, wilt thou serve him in peace 
and in war, in ill-time and weal-time, and defend him 
from the fire and the steel, and wilt thou be as his 
blade in the sheath to deal to the death with his foes ; 
wilt thou do this for him who is prince and earl of 
strath and glen, — wilt thou do all this, Angus Dhu, imder 
the blight and ban of the ancient earls of the Or cades ? ” 
I knew not then, but afterward learned that this was 
a dread oath which the most abandoned of our house 
would not dare break, even though he murdered priest 
at the altar and violated God’s sanctuary. Yet I saw 
that he felt it deeply, and his face went white for a 
moment ; but in the end he said, far down in his throat, 
as with an effort, “ I will do it, mistress of my house ; 
I will keep this oath till I die.” Whereat my mother 
cried, “ Now I die easy.” And he arose, catlike, and 
with the silken polish of one used to courts, and stood 
with that sardonic smile on eye and lip. 

“ Ian, my son,” cried my mother, “ come to me.” 
And I fell on the bed at her breast and wept. Then she 
said, “ Kiss me, my son,” and I kissed her ’mid a sad 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


21 


silence, for my heart was too choked for words, as is 
the way of youth. 

“ Ian,” she said, “ be a good man, be true to thy 
God and thy house.” Then she gazed on me with a 
long, hungering look, and I saw, as one who looketh 
on a far-fading sunset, a grey peace steal over her 
face, like on a beautiful land where the day goes out. 
Then the dread priest, for the first and last time with 
some compunction of tenderness, led me sobbing from 
the room, while the wild wail of the death coronach 
from the woman and man of the house told me that 
I was alone in the world. 


CHAPTER III 


/~\NLY he who hath suffered as I have, and so early 
^ in youth, may feel somewhat of the woe and 
heartbreak which that, the following, week held for 
me. With a child’s fear of death I fled from the house 
where that beautiful mask, which had once been my 
mother, now lay, in that white stillness where all earthly 
care hath an end. 

• Up the strath I went, my dog whimpering at my 
heels as though he felt for my grief, no more whistling, 
but with a cold stupor upon me, that ever anon was 
changed to terrible weeping as if my heart would 
burst with its dread sorrow and loneliness. 

There was a place where my mother would sit in 
the old times before she became so weak, where there 
was a clear spring like to limpid crystal, which sprang 
from a rock under a high cliff ; and beside it were the 
remains of an old cairn and underground house — some 
said made by the fairies, those little folk who inhabited 
this place long ere our ancestors came. It was a quiet 
and secluded place, and here I used to play, while my 
mother sat and watched me ; or, when tired, I would 
hold her hand in mine, and we would sit and think, 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


23 


for she was a woman of little speech, and I have thought 
since that her great trouble concerning me made her 
dumb with sorrow and grief that she could not share 
with me. Here I came now and wept out my childish 
woe, so that by the day of the funeral my mind was, 
if not more settled, at least worn and benumbed. 

It was a grey day on sea and shore when they bore 
her out and laid her to rest in a lonely place by the 
hillside. There were none present save our own house- 
hold and a few others called in for the purpose, so that 
it was a quiet and sober funeral, as became a lonely 
and sad life. The priest, with his sinister face, was 
the only stranger there. When he had hurried through 
the rites of the Church, for which he seemed to have 
but little love, and they had closed in the rude stones 
of the place of sepulchre, the few attendants departed 
and left me alone. Then a great sense of desolation 
overcame me, and I threw myself in bitter anguish 
on the stones beneath which she lay. As I moaned 
there I felt a touch on my shoulder, and the priest 
was beside me. I stood up with some embarrassment, 
for I feared and disliked him, and cared not that he 
should see my sorrow, which he seemed in an unnatural 
manner to enjoy, like to one who feeds on this world’s 
bitterness. 

“ Boy,” he said sternly, “ thy fathers were men ; 
tears are for women only. Dry this your woe, and 
shame not your race.” 

“My race!” I said slowly, and with effort, for I 


24 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


was timid of speech with strangers, and with this man 
especially ; “I know no race, but my heart bleeds 
because that I am so lonely.” And my pride smote 
me that I had opened my soul even a little to this 
cold man. 

“ Lonely,” he answered, in his cutting way ; “ the 
whole world is lonely. See yon bleak moorland, it 
is no more lonely than are most lives. Look on yon 
vast desolate ocean, it is a blossoming oasis to the 
desolation that holds some souls. This world, boy, is 
but a wild desert, and men the cruel beasts that infest 
it, to clutch at each other’s throats. Dry thy woe, 
and take this which I have brought you. It is thine 
by right, for thou art nobly born.” And he drew 
from under his mantle a small belt of shining, wrought 
steel links, on which was worked a crest, and attached 
to which was a short dirk of wondrously wrought metal 
richly inlaid with rare stones ; and ere I could think, 
he was kneeling again in that strange fashion, as he 
had done at my mother’s bedside, and had belted it 
about my waist. My wonder now overcame my fear 
of the man, and a queer feeling as of power of command 
possessed me, a sense such as had come to me before 
when out in the strath alone, and I looked down at 
him and said, “ Who am I ? ” 

“ You,” he said, “ are Ian of the Orcades, earl and 
lord in the eyes of Heaven, and I am thy vassal.” Then 
taking my hand in the same mocking way, he, with one 
knee on the ground, kissed it as though I had been 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 25 

a king and he a courtier, and ere I had time to answer, 
had turned and left me. 

When he had gone, and I had recovered from my 
boyish wonder, I drew the dirk, for I knew it was one, 
from the sheath, and it flashed in the air, and I wondered 
the more that I, a mountain boy, should be given such 
a weapon and for what purpose, because I feared the 
man, lest he owed me some hate and wished me no 
good save for his own ends. Of his strange words to 
me and those of my mother to him on her deathbed 
I could make little sense. I resolved, however, to ask 
old Murdo, as my desire was to solve the mystery. 
As I approached the sheiling again a strange thing 
happened, for old Murdo no sooner saw me with the 
gleaming belt and dagger at my waist, than a great 
fear and trembling took him, like one who hath a 
palsy. 

“ What aileth thee, Murdo ? ” I cried. “ Art thou 
ill ? ” For I loved the old man and feared the loss 
of another friend. 

“ Ian, dread Heaven, boy, where got’st thou that ? ” 
pointing at the belt and dagger. 

“It is mine own,” I cried in wonder, and with a 
certain pride. 

“ Thine own ! This is a madness. Thou hast done 
what will be thy ruin, boy. Tell me quick, where 
got’st thou that ? ” 

“ First,” cried I in anger, “ you must tell me who 
am I, and what this means.” 


26 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


“ I may not, rash boy,” he cried. “ But this means 
death to thee and me.” 

“ Death or not,” I cried, for I was desperate, “ I 
little care. There is something in me, old man, which 
tells me that I was born to command and you to obey. 
Now tell me who I am and what this means,” and I 
looked at him as I had looked at the priest, and he 
started back in alarm and astonishment. Then he 
bent on one knee. 

“ Ian, lord,” he said, “ forgive me, an old man, if 
I may not tell thee, it is not for thee to know, but if 
thou wouldst not bring ruin and death on one who 
hath loved and served thy mother and thee, in the 
name of Heaven tell me who gave you yon dagger and 
belt ? ” 

“ The priest,” I answered. 

“ The priest ! ” he said. “Not Father Angus ? ” 

“ The same,” I said. 

“ The devil,” cried the old man. “ The dark, schem- 
ing devil, his hate is still upon him, he will never stay 
till all be doomed.” He spake this to himself, then 
turning to me, “ Boy,” he said, “ dost thou know that 
it meaneth death for him who weareth yon bauble ? ” 

“ Death ? ” I cried. 

“ Yes, death,” he answered. “ To me or any, but 
more so to you, did he who hath the power or any of 
his following but see thee as thou art. Be advised 
by me, give me yon that I may hide it so that none 
see it any more, and it bring not ruin upon us all.” 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


27 


“ But is it not mine own ? ” I cried ; “ and will you 
not tell me who I am ? I am but a lad and it can do 
none hurt for me to know my name and station, because 
from what thou sayest and what yon evil priest hath 
said, coupled with what my sainted mother spake ere 
her death, it seemeth to me that I am no common 
person. If this be so, why am I here, and why this 
strange cloud about my life ? ” 

“ My son,” he answered, “ there be the words that 
we can speak and there be the silence which we must 
keep for the good of all. But thy question is fair, and 
if thou wilt but be advised and give thy Murdo the 
skene dhu, she will herself put it where it will be safe, 
and hurt none, then will I tell thee something of what 
thou want’st to know.” 

“ Nay,” said I, “ I will not, for it is mine own by 
right of gift, and no man shall take it from me save 
by force. But if thou wilt tell me what I would know 
I will put it off and hide it myself where none may 
see.” And I unbuckled the belt and hid it and the 
dagger in my clothes until I should come to the hiding- 
place I had in mind, for I made inward resolve that 
nohap what should come to me, I would never yield 
this, the only clue to my real place in the world which 
I hoped some day to find out for myself. 

“ Aye, that be well,” said the old man, “ if thou 
wilt not part with it. But as thou lovest life and 
liberty, show it to no man, for to do so would be thy 
death. But I fear me it is in the blood ; thou wilt 


28 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


not be advised, and ever would have thine own wilful 
way. But, Ian, my son,” he continued, “ it may be 
better with thee if thou wilt forget all which thou 
dreamest and bide here with thy Murdo till thou art 
a man of valour to carve thine own way in the world.” 

“ Be that as it may,” said I. “If you will not tell 
me I must needs wait ; but know I shall when the 
time comes, even if it be, as thou sayest, my death.” 

“ ’Tis like them a’, like them a’,” mumbled the old 
man, as he hobbled away to avoid further question. 

Scarce waiting till he was out of sight, I hurried up 
the strath to the hiding-place of my desire, which was 
naught more than the grave of my mother. For here 
was mine altar and my link with all I loved and all I 
suffered, and it was here that I came with my thoughts 
and dreams. Seeking a little cleft in the rude stones, 
where it was safe from wind and wet and prying eyes, 
I hid the only precious possession, save my mother’s 
prayer-beads, which I had in the world, and I seemed 
to value it the more, by some childish mood, because 
it boded danger to me to have it in possession. Here 
I came day by day alone by myself to utter my grief, 
or to examine and wonder at this dire gift of the weird 
priest, until at last my sorrow made some abatement, 
and my desire to know more of the world and what 
it had in store for me grew stronger. Then an event 
took place which changed my life and brought me 
out of my foolish dreams into that world of my heart’s 
desire. 


CHAPTER IV 


“ Dost thou not know that ’tis thy brother’s blood 
Which thou dost spill ? That same breast nursed thee both. 
Who now do stand in bitter feud ’neath heaven .” — Old Tragedy. 

fT! HE days had worn on from summer toward autumn, 
while naught had occurred to alter my sad life 
in that lone glen by the North Sea. The place had 
now become unbearable to my very soul, so that had 
any chance offered, young and ignorant of the world 
as I was, I would single-hearted have wended my way 
and sought my fortune in the world beyond. I still 
had a foolish hope that the cunning priest would come 
back and in some way make good his words to my 
dead mother, for I felt that there was a debt of hate 
of his to be repaid with which my life was somewhat 
mixed up, and that not for love of me, but for evil 
to someone else, he would sooner or later bring himself 
into my life again. So sick was I of the dull monotony 
of that lonely glen with that old scolding wife and 
doting man, that I looked with longing for the worst 
that the priest might do, for that I was to be but bird- 
lime to his vengeance had got itself into my precocious 
boy-mind ; nor was I mistaken, as the sequel will 


30 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


show, but it all came about in a manner which I least 
expected. 

One fair afternoon in early autumn I had gone to 
my favourite shrine, and, sick at heart, I lay weary and 
lonely at my mother’s grave, when on a sudden I heard 
an unusual noise, and looking up saw a sight at once 
the rarest and fairest I had yet seen. It was a small 
group of men on horse and afoot, that came riding 
merrily and lightly up the strath, and in their van was 
one who, as he came nearer, I perceived to be a lad 
about my own age, though he might have been younger, 
but he seemed stronger and bolder and nobler of face 
than I fancied such as I could ever be, by reason of 
the pleasure and joy of his existence. As he came 
near, I could see from where I lay that he was one to 
whom the others deferred, as though he were of high 
station. When I saw the sun shine on his noble, frank, 
fair face, and in his golden hair which hung to his 
shoulders, and saw his fine bold carriage, I felt that 
he was one whom I could have loved as brother, and 
this feeling clung to my heart, being but a lonely outcast 
boy who longed for love and companionship, as the 
sick, caged eaglet longs for its nest in the far crags. As 
they came near me, however, a strange shyness of 
spirit overcame me, who was little used to unfamiliar 
faces, and mingled with this was a pride of retirement 
I ever have had, from nature and mine unusual up- 
bringing. So that, much as I longed to be one of this 
gay company, and to enter into their life, yet I held my 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


3i 


peace that they might ride by or return without seeing 
me. Meanwhile I marvelled also what could bring 
horsemen so far up this remote glen, where there was 
but poor footing, and no road for cavaliers or apparent 
object for their quest. As I lay and marvelled at this 
rare lad, his fine manners and rich trappings, and the 
free way in which he lorded it over those other men 
who were all of them much his senior in years, a certain 
anger and heart-burning took possession of me at the 
contrast he made with my sad life, and which boded 
no good for our meeting, as what follows will show. 

When he had come abreast of where I was he stayed 
his steed, and, shading his eyes with his gloved hand, 
called to one of his serving-men — 

“ There is. the hut. By my soul, my tutor Angus 
is no liar ! ’Tis as he hath said. Forward, Roderick. 
Ride thee forward and tell Murdo of the Glen that I 
would speak him here on a matter of venery.” 

“ Will your lordship not come to the hut ? ” said 
the man. 

“Nay, churl, Tis my will to stay here ; and bid 
thou him haste, or thy fool-hide shall know my whip ; ” 
and without delay the man rode forward. Just then 
the youth spied me where I lay, and with an insolent 
laugh which turned all my good will and admiration 
into hate, and my fear to a cold pride, he came forward 
and cried, “ By the good St. Denis, whom have we 
here ? ” And not liking his haughty looks and the 
cold wonder in the faces of his followers, I slowly rose 


32 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


from the grave and returned his insolence with a fierce, 
silent anger that battled with my shyness to burst 
into vindictive utterance. Not a word did I nor any 
about him speak, but he looked me over as if I were 
some strange quarry brought to bay, and then demanded, 
as one expecting obedience — 

“ Well, churl, hast thou a tongue, or must I ride 
thee down ? ” And he spurred his horse as if to do 
so ; when, blind with anger which found quicker vent 
in action than in swift speech, I grasped his horse by 
the bridle and jerked so hard as to almost throw him 
back quivering on his haunches. 

44 Thou hound,” he cried in imperious rage, “ thou 
shalt die for this ! ” And his followers would have 
attacked me, but he ordered them back. 

“ On your lives,” he cried, 4 4 touch him not, this 
is my quarrel ! ” 

44 Insolent stranger,” cried I, finding my tongue, 
44 would you violate the place of the dead ? ” 

44 Stand back ! ” he again cried, as his followers would 
have menaced me. 

44 But, my lord ” cried one of them. 

44 Nay !” he cried. 44 See, he is but a lad like myself, 
and hath spirit, and my father’s son likethwell to quell 
such a soul.” 

44 By my mother’s soul,” cried I, 44 you shall rue it 
do you touch me ! ” At this his followers rudely laughed, 
as if it were all rare sport, but the youth got him from 
his horse and came toward me. 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


33 


“ Touch thee ! ” he^cried, as he did so. “ I will 
scourge thee, churl, till I curb thine insolent spirit.” 

“ I am no churl,” I answered, “ but as good, and 
better, than thee.” I know not why I spake thus, but 
something in me prompted the words, knowing the 
little I did. 

“ He shall hang for this,” said the eldest of the 
following. 

“ Hang ? I shall chastise him first, and hang him 
afterward ; ” and drawing a dirk which he wore, 
similar to the one which I had hid, but not so brave 
in trapping, he advanced with whip in one hand and 
it in the other. It now seemed to be in bad case with 
me, who was but a lad with no experience of such 
matters, being also unarmed and at the mercy of this 
strange, headstrong youth and those cruel men who 
seemed bent on aiding him in any cruelty he might 
commit. So that I felt that death or humiliation were 
my fate if something intervened not to prevent. There 
was one way out of the matter, and that was to flee ; 
but for all my fear, and my heart beat like to burst, 
there was that madness of pride in me which would 
have dared anything rather than that I should allow 
this haughty youth to have his will. Therefore I 
stood my ground, clenching my fists, and met his 
insolent look with a bold fierceness that made even 
him marvel. 

“Who art thou, indeed,” he said, “who would 
gainsay my will ? ’ 

3 


34 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


“ Rather would I know who you are ? ” I answered 
in quick reply. “ I am dweller here, thou but a strange 
comer.” 

“ Knowest me not ? ” he asked, half in wonder, for 
my proud answer seemed to trouble him. 

But here the elder horseman again intervened. 
“ Knowest thou not, rash boy, whom thou art address- 
ing ? ” he said. But as he spake he eyed me over with 
some misgiving at my appearance and boldness. 

“ Nay,” I answered. “ And why should I, for all 
thy brave trappings and insolent speech ? ” 

“ A truce to this insolence,” said the man. “ Tell me 
thy name, boy, or I will hang you to the nearest tree.” 

“ If you will have it, then,” I cried in my mad, foolish 
pride, as if I were acting a part in some wild dream, 
and though I had but mine own suspicions, and the 
evil priest’s words for it, “ I am of noble birth.” 

“ Noble,” said the elder horseman, and some started, 
though the most burst into a derisive laugh. 

“ Most august lord of the glens,” said the youth in 
mockery, “we would soon have thy hatchments for 
thy funeral. By what designation would we bespeak 
your lordship ? ” 

“ Ian of the Orcades,” I cried. At that they all 
started, some in fear, some in anger ; but I looked the 
proud lad in the eye and he eyed me back ; but neither 
could look the other down. The elder horseman spat 
out a terrible oath, and cried, “ This play hath gone 
too far, my lord.” 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


35 


“ Believ’st me not ? ” I cried. But the men all 
gazed with a strange look at me and the young lad, 
who also stared at me with astonishment. Then he 
said, “ Who art thou who darest to wear my father’s 
name ? ” 

“ Thy father’s name ? ” I cried, now startled in my 
turn. i 

“Yea, my father’s name,” he said. “ And did I 
not believe thee to be some poor fool, it would seem 
but a poor play thou playest, though it is but right 
to tell thee that it meaneth thy death.” 

“ So I were told,” I cried. 

“ Dost thou not understand,” said the elder man, 
“ that thou hast insolently and impudently taken to 
thyself the name and titles of the most puissant noble 
Ian, who alone is known as Earl of the Orcades, and 
of this mighty earldom of the Cattynes ? ” 

“ ’Tis a base lie ! ” I cried ; “as indeed I will show 
you.” And ere they could stop me I had slipped to 
the other side of the tomb, and, buckling on my jewelled 
belt and dagger, faced them. “ ’Tis a base he,” I re- 
peated. “ See my proof. ’Tis I alone am Ian of the 
Orcades ; ” and I drew my dagger and faced them in 
the sunlight. At that there was a strange amazement 
writ on their faces, and every man there of the retainers 
bowed his head ere he could think twice at the sight of 
me and that gleaming belt. I saw that for the moment 
I had the most of them at disadvantage ; all save 
the elder man, who swore a great oath and knit his 


36 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


brows. But the youth, to my surprise, when he saw 
the belt I wore, uttered a wild cry of rage. 

“ Impious thief ! ” he cried. “ Where stolest thou 
my belt ? ” And ere they could stay him he sprang 
with uplifted dagger on to the grave and over to where 
I was. But I faced him with mine, its jewelled hilt 
gleaming in the sunlight. There we stood like two 
young cocks in a pit, ready to have at each other. 

“ Thou hast stolen my father’s name : thou hast 
stolen my belt,” he cried, “ and thou shalt die ! ” And 
he made as though to strike me with his dagger. Now 
I was new to this sort of business, and for a moment 
a mist came over mine eyes, but I breathed a prayer 
and determined to die rather than be conquered. 

“ My lord,” cried the elder horseman, “ in your 
father’s name, I command you, this hath gone too 
far.” But the youth faced me with that anger not 
to be curbed ; and as for me, I was beyond all else 
save a desire to do my part in a game new to mine 
untutored youth, and to save myself without dishonour. 

So there we faced each other with bated breath and 
daggers lifted each seeking to ward, or get the advan- 
tage, when suddenly a stern voice cried “Hold!” and 
there betwixt us stood the priest, with a look of mingled 
reproof and sarcastic pleasure on his cruel face. 

“ So ! ” he said, eyeing each of us in turn as a mature 
man may patronise youths when he pleases, “ we are 
having a pretty rehearsal of the old play of Cain and 
Abel.” 



Page 36. 


Ian of the Orcades 





IAN OF THE ORCADES 


37 


“ What ! ” cried the youth. “ My worthy tutor, 
stand back ! This is too much even from thee ! ” 
And when he faced the priest I saw hatred written on 
his boyish face. 

“ It is too much,” answered the priest sternly. 
“ Know ye not, my lord, that ye are brothers ? ” 

“ Brothers ? ” cried the youth in amazement, while 
I stood silent, wondering at this new turn of affairs. 

“ Yea, brothers,” answered the priest, “ of the same 
father. This is thy brother of the half-blood, son of 
thy father, and but one year thy senior, Ian the bastard.” 
He spake the last word in a bitter way, as though he 
enjoyed it, and yet it tasted badly in his mouth. 

At these words of the priest the train-men fell back 
in astonishment, and the elder horseman cried, “ Father 
Angus, this be a dangerous matter, we must away.” 

“ Thou art right,” said the priest, with that smile 
on his face, looking at us both, while we stood eyeing 
each other and beginning to see, as did the others, 
the strong resemblance betwixt us ; save that I, a 
little the elder, was smaller, and less favoured for my 
age, whereas my brother, for so now must I call him, 
was the finer figured, and the blither to look upon. 

“ Come,” cried the priest, “ ere you part, my noble 
nephews, take hands and make friendship for the love 
of the house where so much love hath dwelt,” he con- 
tinued sarcastically. 

“ Ian,” he said, turning to me, “ ’tis thy noble brother, 
the Lord Hugh.” 


38 


IAN OF THE'ORCADES 


“ Nay ! ” cried my brother, over whose spirit, as I 
afterward found, a new mood chased the old as sun 
chases shadow on an autumn morning, “ but if he be 
my brother indeed, why should we part ? ” 

“Yea, that is the question, my lord,” answered the 
priest maliciously. 

j ‘ “ More,” continued Hugh, “ hath he not spirit ? 
Is he not of the blood ? Is he not that companion 
for whom I have long sought ? ” 

“ In truth, it is a filial feeling,” answered the priest, 
“ and well becometh thy birth and mine upbringing.” 

“ Then,” continued Hugh, “ why should he not come 
with us to the castle ? ” 

Here the elder man spake up in some trepidation. 
“ My lord, my lord ! ” he cried, “ remember your noble 
father, your lady mother ! ” 

“ I care not,” cried Hugh ; “ he is my brother, he 
shall come ! I have said it ! ” 

“ Well, then,” cried Father Angus to the elder man, 
“ we must e’en submit when his lordship decides.” 
But I could see that beneath all he was but too well 
pleased, and I began to understand that this was his 
work, this bringing us together, though one look at 
his face showed that it was for no good to any but 
himself. As for the other men, they stood back in 
silence, keeping behind the elder horseman, who muttered 
and swore under his beard as if he knew this to be but 
the beginning of storms. As for myself, in the whirl 
of mingled emotions which occupied my mind I could 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


39 


think but dimly ; but among these sensations was 
one which came uppermost, namely, the thought of a 
chance to escape from my loneliness, added to which 
was an already budding liking for the young lord to 
whom I was called brother. 

Impetuous and headstrong, he did not ask any leave 
in the matter, but expecting obedience, he merely asked, 
“ Ian, canst thou ride ? ” “I can but try,” I answered, 
and it was but a short space of time before one of his 
followers was dispossessed of his horse for my benefit, 
and I was myself one of those gay cavaliers whom I had 
often envied from my lonely hill glen. I would have 
stayed to bid the old man and woman farewell, but he 
would not have it, nor did he wait to speak to the old 
man on the important matter upon which he had come, 
for, as I have before said, I soon found that a new toy 
or a new pleasure only too soon made him forget the old. 
So, with a last sad look upon the grave of her to whom 
on this earth I owed a childish love and a pure memory, 
I mounted as I saw the others do, though more awk- 
wardly, and soon had left the place of my solitary 
childhood. It seemed a strange dream, with this noble, 
flashing, new brother on the one hand, and a little 
behind on the other the furtive-looking priest, who 
watched us both with a sarcastic inward smile, as of 
one musing over evil possibilities. 

“ A rare man that uncle of ours,” said Hugh, denoting 
the priest with a look of dislike. “ He and I hate each 
other cordially.” 


40 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


“ Uncle ? ” I cried. 

“ Of course,” he answered. “ Thou dost know but 
little.” 

“ I know naught,” I said, in self-deprecation, “ not 
even where we are now going.” 

“ To Castle Girnigoe,” he answered proudly, “ where 
thou wilt learn all things, my mountain brother ; where 
we will make a great man of thee, where thou wilt learn 
to love my haughty mother, to honour my lordly father,” 
and, he continued in a lower tone, “ to hate yon surly 
but schemingly clever and useful priest, our bastard 
uncle.” 

That word — bastard — again smote on me ; but some'- 
thing forbade my asking its meaning, and had I done so 
I fear it would have made but little difference in what 
happened afterward. 


CHAPTER V 


“ It was a massive battlement 
Of olden chivalry ; 

Each side its mighty towerings kent 
Wide mountain and lone sea ; 

No man into its barriers went, 

But wilful bowed the knee.” 


Ballad of Dead Greatness. 



FTER winding slowly for some time down the 


sides of the strath or glen, it gradually grew wider 
and the declivities more gentle. At this I was somewhat 
thankful, for this riding of a brute beast, though pleasant 
to look at in others, was to me a new and rather rough 
experience. I found it difficult to keep my seat and 
hold myself erect in that dignity which became the 
others, and at the same time to pay attention to the 
light words of my gallant, new-found brother. But as 
our grim uncle the priest now rode up abreast of us, 
he also grew silent, for which I was glad, because, as we 
proceeded, I began to have uneasy thoughts within 
myself as to the outcome of all this matter. I was, with- 
out doubt, by my solitary life rendered old beyond my 
years, yet for all this I had conceived a childish pleasure 
in the excitement of this new experience, which now 


41 


42 IAN OF THE ORCADES 

began to sober down into the cold maturity of 
anxiety. 

After a little, when we had wended the level banks 
of the stream that led to the sea, we reached the shore, 
where a deep bay ran in. Keeping to the westward, 
we struck what I saw to be a well-beaten roadway along 
the sands, which at high water was close to the ocean, 
the waves sometimes covering the tracks, but which, 
as now, at the tide’s neap, did spread in a great damp, 
fresh-smelling belt of sand and stranded kelp betwixt us 
and the bitter, curling foam of the but newly returning 
tide. Riding for the better part of an hour along this 
deep shoreway, where we saw but few signs of humanity, 
and those few giving a wide road to our cavalcade of 
mounted pennons, we at last rounded a rugged point, 
and there burst on my view for the first time what I was 
told was the ancient home of my fathers. 

I have already written that ours was an ancient 
house of one-time princely greatness, which had never, 
as I have learned since (and I now write with a close 
knowledge of such matters), descended to a less level 
than royal or noble alliance, and Girnigoe Castle, as 
was its ancient designation, the chief seat of our family, 
was well fitted to be the chief dwelling of so proud and 
headstrong a race, unyielding to king or noble. 

All this I knew not at the time, and of my connection 
with it had but a slight imagination, but my feelings 
at the first sight of this massive and ominous pile were 
such as it would be difficult to describe in the ordinary 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


43 


language of a poor clerk suck as I am. The learned 
Boetius might find words worthy of a description of its 
proud position and splendid front. There came over 
me a strange feeling of fear, and a quick realisation of 
the foolish daring of my speech but a short time before, 
in claiming to represent that greatness which in one 
of its splendours now so closely oppressed me. The 
castle or fortress, for it was, as I learned afterward, in 
truth both, stood on a wild headland that ran boldly 
and ruggedly to meet the angry northern ocean which 
beat in impotent wrath at the foot of its beetling, 
majestic front. 

On a plateau of this austere headland rose the proud 
walls and bastioned towers of this, the mightiest castle 
of the north. It was a massive battlement, almost 
square and of great strength, with walls and turrets of 
such a height that, as I proved afterward, it made the 
head dizzy to gaze to the depths of moat and sea-floor 
from the barbican above. That such a hold in so remote 
and wild a part of the country should be built in so 
massive a form to resist all attacks, will not be wondered 
at when it hath been seen that families like our own, 
proud and self-supporting, were constantly at trouble 
with each other, and even with our sovereign the King ; 
so that where people lived in constant danger of assault 
it behoved them to place stone walls betwixt them 
and their enemies. When I write, this old keep of 
Girnigoe is of long and ancient founding, having served 
my lordly ancestors when they were princes of the 


44 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


mighty kingdom of the Norraways, ere my famed 
ancestor, the fierce Sweyn, had infested these coasts 
and carried fire and sword even to the inhospitable 
shores of the wild Erse people of the far west. And it 
yet standeth old and grey like the sea and rocks, its 
more aged parents, worn like them and grim with the 
markings and buffetings of Time, the one true ancient 
of this grizzled universe. 

My heart rose more and more into my throat, and my 
courage sank in comparison, as we slowly approached 
its walls. After leaving the main roadway, we climbed 
a steep ascent leading by devious ways to the top of 
the plateau ; and as we did so the leading horseman, 
Patrick, who had been muttering in bad mood to the 
priest, hurried on with two of our attendants, whether 
to prepare for our approach, or to elude being implicated 
in my matter, I know not. The rest of the party rode 
behind in sombre silence. The priest now rode grimly 
by my side, where on the other was the young lord. 
Soon there arose on our ears the measured and sweet 
sound of a bell ; then, following on it, the louder and 
more deeply ominous tones of a harsher bell, which 
came from the castle courtyard. 

Scarcely had it ended when Patrick came hurrying 
down to meet us. “Lord Hugh,” he said, “your 
noble father hath returned and hath brought captive 
a wild caitiff of the Macleods whom they are about to 
hang immediate, and your lady mother hath called the 
devout to sudden prayer for his heathen soul ; so you 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


45 

will please you to make haste, as the caitiff is to have 
but short despatch.” This put a quicker blood into 
our horsemen, who, like vultures which scent the feast, 
hastened to the scene. To me it came as but a grue- 
some welcome to that world of the great and active, 
for which my heart had sometimes hungered. My 
brother Hugh rode unconcerned, as high-born youth 
used to scenes of such recrimination and justice ever 
do. The priest pressed somewhat closer to my steed, 
and eyed my countenance with his iron smile, as 
if reading my misgiving and lack of spirit on 
mine entrance to the power and custom of Castle 
Girnigoe. 

“ ’Tis but a sorry home-coming for thee, Master 
Ian,” he commented. “ But it will be as well to know 
thy father as he really is. The meeting is like to be 
a stormy one at best, but whatever happeneth, fear 
not, and I will stand thy friend.” With which cold 
comfort he fell behind, and allowed me to follow my 
brother into the now decidedly grim and uninviting 
courtyard of the castle. As we had approached across 
the plateau the castle appeared like a huge grey wall, 
its gloomy turrets frowning down in a forbidding 
manner. Around the side ran a deep moat or ditch 
flooded with water, that washed the foot of the walls, 
and not to be crossed save by a high drawbridge of heavy 
timbers, worked by some quaint, ancient mechanics, 
which were set in motion at our approach, letting the 
structure prone across the moat, over which we hurried, 


46 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


and were ushered through a narrow bastioned gateway 
into the large yard of the castle. 

Here even Hugh grew taciturn and stern in manner, 
and bidding me follow him, we being deserted by 
Father Angus, who alighted and strode to his ghostly 
work in the chapel, rode to one side of the walled 
space, and without dismounting remained silent, 
and, so far as I was concerned troubled, spectators 
of the occurrence about to take place. Around the 
courtyard were lined the serving-men and armed re- 
tainers, grim and sullen, but careless for the most 
part concerning what to me was an awful deed. On 
the opposite side from where we stood, was stationed, 
chained to a link in the wall, a savage-looking man of 
great proportions and singularly bold and wild aspect, 
who eyed the throng about him with a sort of high 
contempt, as if their attitude and action mattered but 
little to him. Near him on each side stood a keeper 
or guard in partial mail, and armed with blade and 
spear. Above his head there dangled from a beam 
a strong loose cord of some tough fibre, showing the 
manner in which he was to be ended. 

The sight of all this, with the anticipation of the 
terrible tragedy about to take place, crowding as it 
were upon me so soon after my peaceful, protected 
manner of life, turned me of a sudden sick, as though 
the world went round for a moment. Then recovering 
myself, I determined to abide the issue. Silent we 
stood there in the sunny day, prisoner and guards, 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


47 


and we, spectators of it all, while outside the sea 
glistened and the sky shimmered as if all was glad 
and sweet in the world. Then out of an archway at 
the upper end of the courtyard there issued a tall man 
clothed completely in armour and followed by several 
retainers. His ruddy fair hair, high flushed face, and 
proud step proved him to be the man who held that 
little community of souls in the grip of his steel glove, 
Ian of the Orcades, and yet the man whom I was told 
was no less than my father. I knew him at once by 
his likeness to Hugh, though there was in eye and 
mouth a cruel expression which boded ill for the wild 
prisoner, and for me when my turn should come. He 
strode down and faced the prisoner with a grim look, 
while you could have heard a cricket chirp, so quiet 
was the hush for a space. 

“ Malcolm Mac-Ian,” he said in taunting tones, 
“ thou art my guest at last. What hospitality wouldst 
thou crave at my hands ? ” 

“ None,” cried the wild man, in a stern defiance. 
“ Let the dog of the Orcades but giff Malcolm her own 
freedom and her plade and stand her front for one 
stroke, and she herself will thank him.” 

“ Nay ! robbing, murdering dog,” cried the earl, 
“ thou shalt dance there,” and he pointed at the rope ; 
“ dost thou not choose thine own death ! ” 

“ Let her pe shoot like the deer of her own glen,” 
cried the wild man, dropping his head on his breast ; 
“ her will not complain.” 


48 IAN OF THE ORCADES 

“ Tie him up ! ” cried the earl, and in a trice he was 
braced to the wall*; while my legs shook against my 
beast’s sides in horror. 

“ Bowmen, to the wall ! ” he commanded. And as 
soon as one could speak, six archers were ranged near 
us, opposite to where the grim prisoner sternly but 
bravely confronted us. 

“ Pick me his right eye ! A silver bit to the best 
shot ! ” cried the earl ; and ere I could hide my sight 
the wild prisoner was quivering with arrows. “ Let 
him die now,” cried the earl ; and, brave to the last, 
but cursing us all in some wild, and to me unknown, 
tongue, the fierce prisoner died. 

I knew now that all depended on mine own courage 
how I should fare later with this fierce man, whom I 
claimed as father ; but for my life I could not prevent 
that for a moment a mist came before me, and a rushing 
in mine ears at sight of that dread scene ; at which 
Hugh, noting my horror, said — 

“ Courage, brother, fear not ; he loveth a brave man 
but hateth a craven, which thou art not. Speak him 
bold. Whatever he says his bark were worse than 
his bite.” But this was little comfort, for the world 
about me had scarce grown steady again when Hugh 
said quickly, “ Dismount ! ” and, like one in a bad 
dream, I got me off my horse, and saw a terribly cruel 
face before me and heard a stern and harsh voice say — 

“ How now, sirrah, who art thou ? ” 

I choked for a moment, then, remembering Hugh’s 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


49 

warning, said boldly, “ Ian, son of Ian of the 
Orcades.” 

When I uttered these words I thought he would 
have killed me where I stood. He was too enraged 
to speak. He raised his gloved hand, and I counted 
the heart-beats which I had left for life, but I knew 
he was my father who had given me life, a life so terrible 
and hideous that I cared little to keep it ; so I turned 
my lad’s face — white it must have been, but resolute and 
desperate — up to his, and met him face to face, waiting 
for the blow to fall which I knew would be my death. 
Even Hugh could do nothing ; and I remember to this 
hour the sight of those stern men in that courtyard, that 
grisly dead man filled with bleeding arrows, and that 
terrible cruel face and gloved hand upraised in the sun- 
light. If I had died then it would have lived with me 
through all eternity. It seemed as if the evilest curse 
of the dead man had but too soon come upon us. 
Steadily I faced him while the heavens seemed to rain 
hot iron in my brain ; then he seemed to read somewhat 
in my face, for a softer tone came into his voice, and the 
hand went slowly to his side as he said, “ Thou mad 
boy, who hath taught thee all this ? ” Then I found 
a voice which seemed afar off, and said, “ Thou art my 
father, art thou not ? ” But he looked moodily on 
the ground, and answered, as if avoiding the question, 
“ Who hath taught thee all this ? ” 

“ My uncle Angus, the priest,” I answered shortly. 

“ Ha ! that damned priest ! that bastard brother 
4 


50 IAN OF THE ORCADES 

o’ mine. I know lie hateth me. Where lurketh he ? ” 
he cried to the others. 

“ The Father Angus sayeth prayer for the dead 
soul,” answered one of the retainers. 

“Yea, he hath a sweet voice but a black heart,” cried 
the earl, “ and even at the blessed table doth he chew 
the wrong my father did him and resolve hates for me 
and mine. Command him here on the instant ! ” 

“ Sir earl, he sayeth prayers ; we dare not,” answered 
the man. 

“ Hail him here, mitre and cowl — I care not — that 
the base hound may feel mine anger. Hear me, sirrah ! ” 

“ But the lady countess, my lord earl, I dare not 
disturb her,” said the man in a whining voice. 

“ Ha ! my lady ! yea,” and the earl looked at me. 
“Yea, he can wait. We will not violate her prayers.” 
Then he seemed to think a moment. “ Boy,” he said 
shortly, “ this meddling priest did but a bad business 
to open this matter to thee.” 

But I answered, “ It was not only the priest, but my 
mother also.” 

“ Thy mother, lad ? ” he cried. “ What of thy 
mother ? ” 

“ She was the best soul I have known or ever will know 
in this world,” I answered in anger and sorrow. 

“ What ! Was ? Did you say was, lad ? ” and he 
clutched me fiercely by the arm. 

“ She is dead, my lord earl,” I said, drawing back 
coldly. 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


5i 


“ Dead ! ” lie exclaimed, ct and they told me not.” 

“ Father Angus shrived her,” I said, “ though she 
needed it not.” 

“ That damned priest again,” he cried. “ He hath 
more than I, and I have much, to answer for.” 

“ She prayed for you in her last hour,” I said, 
half angered at my mother’s wrong, though I did not 
know its full ill then, and partly in sorrow that this 
fierce, evil man were so moved at her name. 

“ Speak no more of her, boy. I may not stand it ! 
My life hath been one long hell, but the worst I did 
’twas my bastard brother Angus led me. I see it now, 
but I must dree my weird. Get thee gone,” he cried 
fiercely, “ let me not see thy face. He did thee an evil 
turn who sent thee here. I am thy worst foe — the one 
thou shouldst shun most in all the world.” 

“ But thou art my father ! ” I cried in strange agony ; 
“ whatever hath happened I am thy son.” 

“ Nay, nay ! ” he cried. “ Thou must not say it. This 
was no slight sin. Believe me, boy, thou must go back 
whence thou earnest, or anywhere out into the world. 
I will make thee rich and great ; but stay not here. Open 
the gate and let him out, give him attendance, yea 
moneys ; but see that he be gone.” 

At this Hugh stepped forward. “ Father,” he cried, 
“ Ian must stay ! He is my brother.” 

“ Thy brother ! Thou knowest not of what thou 
speakest. There is that betwixt ye two that may not 
be spoken ! Nay, madden me not, let him go.” 


52 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


“ But I say not ! ” cried the sweet, silvery, clear voice 
of a woman ; and when I heard it I knew that it was the 
voice of one born to command, and I turned and saw 
me a new sight which in the dread agony and emotion 
of the last few moments I and the others had overlooked. 
From the door of the chapel, at a remote corner of the 
great grim courtyard, there had issued forth a group of 
sombrely attired women ; and at their head, accom- 
panied by my sinister uncle the priest, walked a tall, 
noble-looking lady of about middle life. Her figure 
was one at once commanding and stately ; and her face 
both beautiful and haughty, but wearing a cold austerity 
of manner that suggested rather the convent than the 
castle or court. She had in her hands the lower part of 
a great string of prayer-beads which hung about her 
neck, and which she had been telling as she walked. 
They were somewhat similar to those which my mother 
had ever kept about her, which she gave me on her 
deathbed, and which I had next my heart as I stood 
there. I saw in her gaze at me and at my lord the earl, 
coupled with the look of self-sufficiency on my priestly 
uncle’s face, why it was that he had dared to bring me 
here in defiance of the terrible earl. It was not hard 
to see that if my lord were fierce and headstrong, it was 
a stronger will than his that ruled at Castle Girnigoe. 

As I took this all in, the penetrating voice rose again 
like the silver tones of a pure molten bell, “ Who is this 
lad, my lord earl ? ” 

“Madam,” he answered, “let me beg you keep to 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


53 

your prayers, and leave the more worldly matters to thy 
lord’s keeping.” 

“ My lord,” she answered, speaking in tones of scorn, 
“ my lord, thou art not so hospitable ” — and she 
denoted with horror the dead man still on the wall — 
“ that thou shouldst be left to deal with strangers 
within thy gates ! ” 

“ I will have yon removed at once, madam,” said 
the earl, “ do thou but go to thine apartments.” 

But she turned to me. “ Boy,” she commanded, 
“ speak ! Who art thou ? ” 

But what with her commanding eyes and the earl’s 
terrible scowl and the priest’s grim smile, I could find 
no voice. 

“ Madam,” I stammered, and could get no further ; 
but here my churchly uncle for his own reasons came 
to my relief. 

“ My noble sister,” he said, eyeing the earl and me 
in turn, and speaking in his blandest tones, “ seeing 
that my lordly brother is modest toward you in this 
matter, wilt thou gaze at the youth, at the young Lord 
Hugh, and at thy husband, and read the riddle ? ” 

“ Nay, nay ! it cannot be ! ” she exclaimed in horror. 

“ Yea, in truth,” answered the priest, “ he is thy 
stepson Ian, thy husband’s son and bastard child.” 

In a moment, as a thunder- cloud lightens, there went 
a fire over her face, she looked at me, and if hate could 
have slain I had died there that moment. Then she 
turned to the earl, who stood sullenly at bay. 


54 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


“ And you ! you dared wrong me thus ? ” 

“ Nay, madam,” answered the earl, “ the wrong, 
and great it was, was against another ; and as for 
thee, my damned brother, thou and I will come even 
yet.” But the priest only smiled, and it was easy to 
see that his smile was more deadly than the other’s 
hate. Then the earl turned to me in a sort of blind 
wrath. 

“ Get thee gone, boy, ere I slay thee ! ” he cried. 
“ Canst thou not see that this is no place for such as 
thee ? Get thee gone ! Thou hast done enough ! ” 

“ Nay,” cried the lady, “ but he shall stay. He is 
thy son, and by my duty to the Church he shall stay 
here that thou mayst see in him thy sin’s remembrance 
daily in thy sight till thou hast repented ! ” 

“ Here, my lady ? Thou wilt keep him here ? ” 

“ And why not ? ” she answered. “ Is it not thy duty 
to thy conscience and to an angered Heaven ? Yea, 
he shall stay.” 

Yet I saw that her liking grew even worse toward 
me ; but her sense of duty to the teachings of her 
conscience and desire for the earl’s punishment were 
equally strong with her intense hate of me. 

“ Come here, my son Hugh ! ” she cried, and as 
Hugh went to her she put her arm about him. 

“ Hugh, my son,” she said, eyeing me scornfully, 
“ this is a poor misborn youth. He will stay with 
thee, and thou wilt have him to aid and serve thee.” 
She spoke to him so tenderly, that through all my 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


55 


bitterness she minded me of my mother’s ways, and 
my heart went out for a little of that great love which 
I could see she bore for her son, but which was dead 
for her husband. 

At this the earl could stand no more. “ Well, madam 
and sir priest,” he cried, “ do ye keep him. Have your 
will ! But, boy,” he said to me, “ here is no happiness. 
Girnigoe Castle is cursed with a great gloom of subtlety, 
priestcraft, and ill for all. I am thy father, shame 
to me to say it ; but thou see’st me such as I am. 
Make this place what thou canst, but shun me as thou 
shouldst the plague or yon damned priest brother o’ 
mine.” And he turned on his heel and was gone ere 
I could say a word, could I have thought of anything 
to say ; for I was dazed with dire dismay and sorrow. 
And for some evil reason of his own I saw that the crafty 
priest had slunk away too. 

“ Hugh, my son,” cried the lady, “ I would speak 
with the lad alone.” She would not speak of me as 
his brother ; indeed, she could never bring herself 
to look on me in that relationship. “ Go, my son,” 
she said, and kissing him on the brow she dismissed 
him. When he was gone she turned to me, and the 
love was all gone out of her face, and in its place was 
that fierce slaying pride. 

“ Sirrah ! ” she said, “ tell me quick, who was thy 
mother ? ” I marvelled then that she should wait 
to ask me this when we were alone. When, afterwards, 
I came to understand how one woman will hate another 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


56 

who has crossed her love and pride, I understood why 
her pride led her to ask me this in private. 
jU “ My mother,” I said, “ was a good woman — the 
best in the world.” 

“ Thy mother, boy ? Thy mother ? ” she questioned 
me fiercely. 

“ Yea, lady,” I cried, “ my mother was one of 
prayers and penances like to thyself. She favoured 
thee, though not so tall, and she was fair ” 

“ Her name ? Name me her name ! ” she interrupted 
fiercely. 

“ I know not,” I answered in sorrow, “ but that she 
was good and gentle, and these were her prayer-strings, 
which she gave me at her death. There be somewhat 
graven on them. Canst thou make it out ? ” 

And I handed her the beads, which she, taking in her 
fingers, saw their value and read thereon what was too 
difficult for my poor clerkship. Then she cried, “ Dread 

Heaven — this thy mother ? Then thou art ! ” 

She stopped and looked at me in anger and amazement. 
Then, as if forgetting me, she cried, “ My son, my son ! ” 
as if absorbed in the misery of this new trouble. But 
I partly knew what she felt ; and I cried out, “ Madam, 
let me go from this place. I am but a poor lone lad ; 
but I cannot stay to bring misery to thee and thine.” 

“ Nay,” she cried. “ I have given my word ; and 
though — I will tell thee truth — I would I had never 
seen thy face, yet it were ill that I, the great-grand- 
daughter of the King of Scotland, should change my 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


57 


word for that ; and also for fear that worse trouble 
come if thou goest ; thou shalt stay here and be my 
lord’s penance for his great wrong. And thou, boy, 
though thou hast blood of kings in thy veins, yet shalt 
thou learn to serve my son, but speak no word of thy 
mother to me or other on penalty of my wrath. The 
priest shall see to thy learning, and chance, if thou 
favourest that vocation, the Church may be thy calling ; ” 
and with a haughty look and a dread one, as if she 
had but done the most grievous deed of her life, she 
turned and left me. 

The sun was now well lowered and just withdrawing 
his declining light, and I was alone in the grim courtyard, 
mine only companion the fierce, dead glensman. And 
this was my home-coming to Castle Girnigoe, the house 
of my fathers ! Though much matured by sorrow, I 
was yet but a lad, and a great sense of desolation welled 
up in my heart, and, forgetting all, I threw myself 
upon the bare flagstones, and sobbed as I had once 
before sobbed on my mother’s grave. 


CHAPTER VI 


T HE life that now opened up to me at Castle Girnigoe 

was in sooth a strange one, and yet one quite in 

keeping with mine obscure upbringing. I had a chamber 

allotted to me next to that of mine uncle Angus in a 

remote part of the castle, where he, for the most part, 

spent his hours when not singing the blessed Mass, or 

absent, as was rumoured, in visitation at a neighbouring 

castellated abbey, the residence of the bishop of our 

part of the north. This abbey and bishop I shall refer 

to later on, as both were destined to play a leading part 

in my life’s drama. My uncle’s retreat was called the 

old-tower room, and was in many respects the most 

remarkable apartment in the castle. It was said to be 

haunted, and by the spirit of a wizard ancestor of the 

family, who was believed to have constructed this 

particular tower by a secret art which he had gotten 

from a familiar devil, whom he had brought into his 

power by his dread magic. I have understood that 

such doctrines are not now as commonly believed by 

men of clerkly knowledge, yet, for the most part, in 

our days men believed these spirits to be subservient to 

wise men. Be that as it may, few in the castle cared 
68 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


59 


to come near that tower, or the passage that led to it, 
so that mine uncle had his privacy much to himself ; 
and as my room was of similar reputation, neighbouring 
as it did on the wizard tower, I found that I was happy 
in mine early acquired habits of solitude. I must 
admit that, for all mine evil uncle’s ill qualities, he had 
great gifts as a clerk, and knew much of the occult lore, 
which, had it come to light, would have brought him 
to the stake as a wizard. I had a great curiosity with 
regard to these studies, and found much to interest 
me in pondering over the ancient writings, weird 
mechanics, and strange furniture of his lonely apartment. 
I have since thought that he took a peculiar pleasure 
out of my superstitious fears and youthful desire to 
explore those mysteries, for such obscure studies ever 
appeal to the ignorant and credulous. There is no 
doubt that much of mine uncle’s power over those in 
the castle, not even excepting my lordly father and his 
haughty lady, was gained by that reputation which he 
had for occult science. It was in this room that Hugh 
and I pursued our studies, though it was but seldom 
that Hugh could be got to cultivate letters, which he 
ever averred to be alien to the needs of one born to rule, 
whose one study should be arms, as necessary to his 
power and honour ; while that of letters, as dealing 
more with craft, was more fitted for the clergy and 
those classes who, by reason of their inferiority, had to 
make themselves of use to others by their skill in such 
matters. 


6o 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


It thus came to pass that I soon outstripped Hugh 
in the studies which he abhorred, while he became ever 
more expert in the science of arms, which vocation 
never came to me as easy as to others, though I can 
boast some power and skill as a swordsman. The rest 
of the household I saw but rarely, save at meals. These 
were served in the great hall, where at a long table the 
most of the castle folk sat, except those that served ; 
the earl and the lady countess at the top, with Hugh 
next, and, a little below, mine uncle Angus and myself, 
just above the salt, the vessel for the holding of which 
is used in all great houses to separate the blood kin and 
those of noble birth from those others who are but 
vassals and retainers. 

On such occasions, which I enjoyed but little, and 
forsook as soon as manners made possible, the earl 
drank much and often, and carried him in a boisterous 
and, I am sorry to say, heathenish manner, little in- 
fluenced by his lady who sat opposite, stern and for- 
bidding, conversing at intervals with the priest, who 
grimly loved to see the earl disgrace himself. The lady 
countess’s manner on those occasions was ever reserved 
and haughty, distant and cold to me and others. Only 
to Hugh did she unbend, and likewise to Father Angus, 
who seemingly held a high place in her favour. 

The walls of this great dining-hall were hung at 
intervals with some old pictured hangings of tapestry 
from the looms and fair hands of the ladies of some 
far continental country. Betwixt these hung rusted 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


61 


and grim suits, or half-suits, of mailed armour, more 
cumbrous and unwieldy than those used in our day. 
At the head of the hall, where the earl’s state chair stood, 
over a great fireplace was carven in some rude but 
quaint hand in the stone lintel the name of that famed 
ancestor of our house who had built this sea-ward 
hold ; and over it were the ancient arms of our house, 
the galley or lymphad of the princes of the Orcades. 

There was much to appeal to my growing fancy in 
all the ancient lore and tradition of this place, and 
especially as, from what I had formerly heard, coupled 
with my experience since my arrival, I had got a suspicion 
that in some manner I had been wronged, and that I was 
indeed the rightful heir of all this vast possession. How- 
ever, as matters now stood, I saw that whatever might 
have been in the past was now impossible, and that 
my life here would have to be one of retainership, if not 
of servitude, and that my place in the household was 
one of a very equivocal nature. From the first I 
noticed that the servants and retainers avoided me, 
and gave me no looks of reverence such as they gave 
my brother : and on the part of all, as days went by, I 
was become as one who moves amid shadows so far as 
the real life of the place was concerned. Indeed, save 
for Hugh’s boyish fancy for me, and his passing need of 
companionship, I was like to be left to myself. 

On state occasions I was conveniently left out, and 
on other times was just above the salt, and no more. 
This all tended to throw me more and more into the 


62 


IAN' OF THE ORCADES 


company of mine uncle Angus, and whether there was 
at bottom some germ of good in the man, which I could 
never come to persuade myself, or that, like all souls 
ambitious and subtle, he longed for some spirit kindred 
to his own on which to make experiment, I do not 
know ; but certainly he took great pains to enlighten 
me in all those sciences which only the learned indulge 
themselves in. It seemed that the more I was ignored 
in the castle the more did he in his own private place 
treat me as worthy of notice and some deference. 

My father the earl, I soon found, was often absent, 
and those absences for the most part, when not at Court 
(where he went but seldom, and not for his good reputa- 
tion there), on wild forays against his neighbours and 
fellow-nobles of more distant shires, for he was a man 
turbulent and quarrelsome to a degree. When at 
home, at meals, where I alone saw him, save when I was 
called to attend him to some riding or training in which 
all took part, he was for ever denouncing someone over 
his flagon. His leading hate, however, was toward the 
Church, and it seemed to me that the presence of the 
priest with his sinister face aggravated this feeling, 
and made him all the worse. His most hated foe, I soon 
found, was our ecclesiastical neighbour, the Lord Bishop 
of the Cattynes, a man of great power, spiritual as well 
as temporal, and, as I afterwards discovered, a secret 
friend of mine uncle, who, as the event proved, used 
both the bishop and the earl against each other to 
their mutual undoing. For it was the hate of my 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 63 

father the earl towards the proud bishop, and the 
private intrigues of the latter, which brought about 
the terrible tragedy in which I took an unwilling part. 
This bishop, or ecclesiastical lord — for he was in reality 
such — was, as I learned later, the natural son of some 
great earl to the south, and who, going into the French 
countries and getting favour of the Pope, had conferred 
upon him powers spiritual over a great part of this 
region under our King. I have since thought that he 
was sent partly to be a watch over, and check upon, our 
house, which, being of such princely extraction and 
great worldly power, gave no little alarm even at Court. 
This naturally incensed so headstrong and arbitrary a 
man as my father, who, having no guile, and but his 
fierce nature, resented what he saw to be a rival in his 
own country whom he could not reach. The bishop, 
being also a man of address and parts, so insinuated 
himself at Court that my father, seeing that he had but 
little chance of redress there, absented himself more 
and more, a thing bad for a nobleman at any time, but 
especially so for my father’s reputation, which was at 
best never too good. 

Of this bishop as the years went on I gradually came 
to know by the varied accounts current in our com- 
munity, which were but little in his favour. My father 
when in his cups would curse him in round terms, and 
give him all the sins in the calendar to his record, such 
sins as should be fastened on no man, much less a priest 
or bishop of the Church. The lady countess on these 


64 IAN OF THE ORCADES 

occasions would look black and mutter prayers over 
her bead-strings, crossing herself at each especial 
blasphemy against the lordly ecclesiastic. Mine uncle 
would smile into his flagon and say nothing, but I was 
well assured in my mind that it all came to the good 
bishop’s ears by means of the priest’s wizard methods, 
and helped much to fan the flame that burst afterward 
and brought misery on us all. Among the many ills 
laid at the door of this proud bishop, but which were 
only whispered for the most part — for no one save the 
earl dared speak openly on the subject — was that of 
being over-zealous in the harbouring of that sex which, 
since the first days, hath been, wilful or not, a cause of 
strife and unhappiness to man. 

How far this was true, I may not say ; but that he 
was a powerful and worldly man I had in time good 
cause to know. One day, during the fifth year of my 
coming to the castle, mine uncle, who favoured long 
walks by the seashore — for ghostly meditations the 
devout said, but those who knew him, as I did, sus- 
pected somewhat different — offered me his company, 
and, whether by chance or by connivance, we soon saw 
a fine company approaching, more like a great lord’s 
attendance than was my idea of the churchly. At the 
head rode my lord bishop, richly caparisoned as to man 
and beast, the only hint of his ecclesiastical position 
being a beautifully chased gold crucifix, which depended 
at his waist and glittered in the sun. By his side rode 
a genial monk, who was much less of the world and 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


65 

more of the convent in habit, but as plain and rubicund 
in countenance and port as any of my father’s serving- 
men. 

At their approach, mine uncle, who awaited their 
coming, bent and kissed the great bishop’s hand with 
much deference, and, saying some words of whose 
meaning I did not catch the drift — but I could easily see 
there was a familiar understanding betwixt them — led 
me forward and presented me. I also found my manners 
and kissed his hand, which I was loath to do, but was 
rewarded by being received with very courtly words 
by this man whom I did not like, but who appeared 
rather what I had heard of a prince than a bishop. 
Then mine uncle did a strange thing. He spake to me 
and acted toward me while in this company with a 
marked deference and respect, and I was surprised to 
note that the great bishop paid me more deference 
than was due to my years and equivocal position in the 
world. 

“ So this is he ? ” said his lordship, gazing with a 
curious interest into my puzzled face. “ Well, well, 
’tis an old house, thine, my son, and the good father 
telleth me that thou showest that thoughtful studious- 
ness and distaste for this world worthy of a son of the 
Church. ’Tis an old house,” he added musingly, 
“ and thou art the last ; but the Church hath great 
power and high office for such as thou art, and for 
wrongs to be redressed she hath ways and means such 
as have not even kings,” and he looked upon me as if 
5 


66 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


to read the influence of his speech written in my face. 
“ Yea,” he added, “ the usurper and disowner of his 
children must be brought low.” And while I marvelled 
at these words, he continued, “ Keep courage, my son, 
and visit me sometimes. Thine uncle will fetch thee.” 
He then gave me his hand, and rode gaily on, with a 
side smile toward mine uncle, in the direction of a great 
tower more like a baron’s hold — as indeed it had once 
been — than the abbey of a prince of God. 

When the cavalcade had passed on, mine uncle turned 
to me and said, “ There goeth thy good friend and well- 
wisher, my nephew. Dost thou but follow his desire 
for thee, thy wrong shall be avenged and thou wilt 
become great.” 

“ As to that,” I replied, “ my wrongs are mine own, 
and toward that kind of greatness I have no lust.” I 
said this bitterly, for I had no more liking for this man 
and his mock respect for me, than I had for mine uncle’s 
schemes, which were but half patent to my youthful 
knowledge. 

“ How now ! ” he cried fiercely. “ Dost thou talk 
contemptuously of such greatness ? Know you that 
my lord bishop hath strong powers, such as could to- 
morrow topple thy father, mine insolent brother, out 
of these crags into nowhere, did he but persevere. 
Know that he hath great favour at Court, especially 
with the most puissant Duke of Albany, who ruleth 
his royal brother, and is king in all but outward 
seeming. Know you that such power as this is not to 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 67 

be slighted, nor its friendship scorned, nor its anger 
courted.” 

Then said I, “ I am but a youth and thou a learned 
clerk, but it seemeth strange to me that thou, my 
father’s brother, sitting above his salt, eating his meat 
and taking his shelter, shouldst have secret commerce 
with this man, knowing as thou dost his power and 
hatred toward our lord earl ! Dost think it human, 
brotherly ? ” I cried, and I faced him there on the 
sands. 

At that his face went dark with a storm only his 
black spirit could assume, and for once I made mine 
uncle show his real heart in all its bitterness. 

Boy,” he cried, “ darest thou preach to me, to me, 
of brotherhood and humanity ? Dost thou know me ? 
Who am I to harbour such fine feelings, and who art 
thou, thou craven fool, to preach such doctrine ? I have 
no brother, no kin, no name, save what the Church doth 
give me. Who is this man who calleth me brother, 
who treateth me less than his dogs — me whom he would 
turn on to-morrow did he not fear me ? Am I not more 
fitted to be his lord than he mine, in thought, in gift, in 
power to rule ? ” And he drew himself up. “In all 
but one thing am I not his superior ? Yet he hath all, 
and I nothing ; and still thou wonder’ st that I should 
hate him. Yea, so much do I hate him,” he said, 
“ that ” 

At this, words seemed to fail him, so great was his 
passion ; and the dark purple veins swelled in his face 


68 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


and neck, and clenching his uplifted hands in dread 
menace toward Girnigoe Castle, and muttering terrible 
but meaningless imprecations, mine evil uncle, the holy 
Churchman, fell foaming in a fit on the sands at my 
feet. Many terrible things hath it been my fate to see 
in this sad life, but never saw I more terrible sight than 
this. I had heard dread tales of him from the castle 
servants, that he was one of those whom men called 
possessed of an evil demon ; and his looks now so horrified 
my spirit that I could but stand in a strange maze of 
terror, so much so that did not some elemental sense of 
humanity lead me to take courage to loosen his neck- 
cloth and throw water upon him, he had like to have 
died, which in some ways would have been for the 
great good of us all, though he lived in the end to do me 
a good turn without meaning to, as is often the way of 
evil men. After a while, when the water had recovered 
him, and whatever ill demon in him was dislodged, he 
came to himself and sat up, now quite pale and weak-like, 
and beckoned me to his side. 

“ Did I fright thee, my son ? ” he said. “ I am 
subject to these turns. Men evilly say that I am 
possessed, but thou knowest better, my lad ; ’twas 
but the heat of the blood,” and he opened his girdle, 
and, giving me a silver cup, prayed me for God’s sake 
to get him a taste of water. This I was not long in 
doing, for he looked like to go off again, and all his 
assurance was not strong enough to hold my courage 
when I remembered the dread look on his face when 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 69 

in that woeful sickness. For of all the fiend looks on 
the face of man, the worst was that then upon mine 
uncle’s ; and if it be possible that a demon doth, as men 
say, inhabit mortal bodies at times, I could fancy one 
did his at that time. When I brought the water he 
thanked me — a rare thing for him — and, taking a phial 
from his breast, shook somewhat from it into the water, 
and gulped it down as a man drinks greedily when 
athirst. Whereat the blood came to his face once 
more, and he stood up. 

“ Thou lookest pale, lad,” he said, with somewhat 
of his old manner. “ Thou art not a girl to go white 
at sight of a sick man ? ” 

“ It was a dread turn thou hadst,” I answered, 
keeping my distance. 

“ And thou belie vest their lies ? ” he asked. 

“ I know not,” I replied ; “ but had not a human 
weakness seized me I tell thee frankly I had left thee to 
die where thou layest.” 

“ But sense saved thee, and me by thee,” he answered. 
“ Boy, thou hast saved my life. Believe not those 
senseless tales, but rather know me to be thy best 
friend and the one who in this world can do thee the 
most good or the most ill. Hast thou no ambition 
but to be what thou art now, Und worse, like me or 
others, as thou growest old ? ” 

“ I know none,” I cried, “ save to some day leave 
this place.” For what dreams or aspirations I held in 
mine own soul seemed to me as too sacred to reveal to 


70 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


this ill man who had such power over me, and toward 
whom I felt no goodwill. 

“ Thou art content to be as thou art ? ” he said, 
looking darkly at me. 

“ I know not of nor care for thy power,” I said, “ but 
hast thou no love to any at Girnigoe, not even toward 
my brother Hugh ? ” 

“ Thy brother Hugh ! ” he answered evilly. “ Hast 
thou ever thought that he standeth betwixt thee and 
all this greatness ? ” 

“ This may be,” I said, “ or it may not ; but he is 
innocent of any ill. He is my brother, and I think 
that in his way he hath a love toward me.” 

“In his way,” sneered the priest, “ and in such a 
way ! He is but his father in the kernel, with some- 
what of his arrogant mother. Yea, he liketh thee but 
as one of his fancies until thou tirest him or he thinketh 
thou standest in his path.” 

I feared that to some extent this was true, just enough 
to put a canker in my heart in this direction, and had 
I been of mine uncle’s bitter soul, there is no doubt that 
he would have made me hate my brother, for he was a 
very devil for seeing into the defects of human nature 
and laying bare what was evilest there. But, as Heaven 
knoweth, for all my weaknesses, and I have many, I 
longed rather for love and justice than for revenge 
against any soul. Then I said, “ But hast thou no 
regard for the lady countess ? ” 

“ The lady countess,” he spake fiercely, “ hateth me, 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 

though scarce as deep as she hateth thee, whom she 
hateth most next to thy mother’s memory in all this 
world. She regardeth me but as the one who represents 
the Church to her pious mind.” 

At this I was sad, for I was but a lonely youth, and 
I had thought that for all her pride and dislike for me 
she was a good woman in her narrow, religious way, 
and in somewhat reminded me of my mother. 


CHAPTER VII 


“ rTlHESE people are naught to me and thee,” 

J- continued the priest. “We are in a world 
apart, thou and I ; but thou hast the greater wrong, 
didst thou but know it. Indeed, if thou didst, thou 
wouldst live but for its righting.” 

“ I know not and care not ! ” I cried, for I was weary 
of his eternal hints and dark ways. “ I ken that 
there was some wrong done my mother, who was a 
good woman, and that there is somewhat of a mystery 
as to my standing ; but are not this earth and yon 
sea enveloped in a mystery, which God lets down and 
uplifts ? And so I will live and wait on His great 
will, nor love nor hate more than lieth in my nature.” 

“ But knowest thou,” he continued, “ what the 
world saith of thy mother, and how it casteth shame 
on thy birth ? ” 

“ 111 of my mother ? Thou art mad ! ” I cried. 

“It is even so,” he answered. “ Thy shame is that 
thou wert born out of wedlock, and that thou art 
known to the world as what is called a bastard, and 
thy mother as no wife.” 

“ ’Tis a foul lie ! ” I cried, “ thou black, evil priest,” 

72 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


73 


and I had like to have struck at him, but a mist swam 
before me, for it all came upon me now, and in spite of 
his ill face and serpent tongue, I believed him. But 
I put him by when the truth of his words came to 
me, and rushed blindly, I knew not where, with one 
impulse only, to get away from him and all this hideous 
thought. Then it seemed as if the whole world became 
red, and then black, and I knew no more. 

When I next awoke to knowledge of this world 
it was weeks after. I lay on my couch in my chamber 
at the castle, and mine uncle Angus and my brother 
Hugh stood over me. 

“ The fever hath gone now ; he will live, thank 
Heaven ! ” I heard the priest say. Then a bitter 
drink he thrust between my parched lips, and I 
sank into a deep sleep from which I woke more re- 
freshed but still woefully weak. They told me after- 
ward that but for mine uncle I had been drowned at 
sea, as I had in my madness run out round a great 
headland toward the tide, which being on its return 
would soon have engulfed me, had not Father Angus 
in a sort of despair followed me and brought me back 
by main force. And they said that he had arrived 
at the castle some hours afterward, bearing me as one 
dead, and himself more dead than alive. That this 
strange man did all this, not for any love for me, as 
others thought, but as I knew for a stern purpose 
of his own, wherein I had felt from the first I was to 
play a necessary part, only made me fear and dislike 


74 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


him all the more, for he seemed like one who would 
bring a soul back from the dead to carry his own bitter 
purpose to its end. 

I have since felt what agony the man must have 
suffered, himself half dead with his own sickness, 
following me along those treacherous, devouring tide- 
washes, that were like to steal me, and with me his 
hope of revenge, out of his fierce grip. How he must 
have struggled, raved, and cursed till he got me home 
to the castle, only an aged, infirm miser, bearing his load 
of gold, and fleeing from the robber Death, can realise. 

I was months coming back to my former health 
of body, but as to mind and spirit I was never mine 
own self again. The memory of the priest’s words 
on the sands rankled in my heart and burned into my 
soul like the searing iron of the brander that marks 
the criminal. My brother Hugh, who at times came 
to see me as I lay there, remarked this great change, 
but laid it rather to the effect of my illness. 

“ Thou art older, brother Ian,” he would say, 
“ What siren of the ocean came up on the sands and 
stole away thy youth ? ” At this I would mutter 
and turn from the subject, for through all my hideous 
woe I loved him still. Careless and proud, yet he 
had ever the fair sunny ways and open heart of a true 
man. But the curse was on him, as on us all, and 
mine uncle Angus was as apt to read him as he read 
me, and to play on his weakness as he had played on 
mine, but to a more deadly end. 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


75 


“ Thou growest more like thine uncle Angus every- 
day 5 he would say to me in his light way, not knowing 
the real meaning of his words. 

“ God forbid ! ” I would say. 

“ My saintly mother and he would make a Church- 
man of thee,” he would laugh ; “ but let them not. 
Thou wert not made for a cowl ; but when thou gettest 
over this weak fit come out with me. Leave those 
cursed books which have bewitched thee, and have 
stolen thy youth and strength. There is a devil in 
those black letters which mine uncle Angus pores 
over. I will make thee a man-at-arms and get thee 
a knighthood at Court, where I am to go some day 
when my father makes his peace there ; and we will 
see all the fair ladies and bold gallants. See, we be 
most men now.” And so he would go on, and then 
would leave me and I would not see him again for 
days, when he would come in and be very sorrowful 
for his .forgetfulness. Toward the latter part of my 
illness, however, he came but once, and I noted a 
marked change in him. He was silent and moody, 
and when I asked him what was the matter, he answered 
with some heat, “ It is all my damned uncle Angus, 
who would rule me as he doth my father.” He then 
went out, and I marvelled what new trouble was afoot. 

Only once did the lady countess visit my sick-room, 
and that was when my weakness was at its worst and 
they thought I was to die. I have said that she was a 
very religious and pious woman, and in her way desirous 


76 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


of doing good, and she thought it her duty to her soul 
and mine to come in and bid me God-speed. It was 
at a time when I was very weak, and when I was told 
that she was coming my heart yearned for some woman’s 
love, as all poor ill souls do, like children that are help- 
less. But she came in so proud, stately, and cold, 
that she might have been some austere moonbeam, 
and she so froze my soul with her short, cold exhorta- 
tions and distant manner, wherein was little warmth or 
human sympathy, that I was glad when she was gone. 
Then I realised how she and others looked upon me, 
as one beyond the pale of those who may look for 
human happiness. 

The priest was my most common visitor, and he 
was truly desirous of repairing what he had done to 
my spirit, and seemed doubly anxious to get back 
into my favour. But he soon saw that it would take 
time to heal over what he had wrought betwixt us, 
for my one love in the world was my mother’s memory, 
and no one knew this better than mine uncle Angus. 
Yet it was not possible in nature not to grow to tolerate 
the man who had been so assiduous, and who did so 
much to make life tolerable for me in my great physical 
illness. Besides, he saw how matters were betwixt 
us, and carefully left me to myself when he thought 
I would like to be left alone. This gave me much 
time for solitary thought and observation, and by 
this means I was enabled to make a discovery which 
startled me out of my sick-bed inaction, and^which, 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


77 


though it gave me much uneasiness, brought me 
out from my useless repinings to a self-forgetfulness 
necessary to my speedy recovery. 

My room, as I have said, was a small one, in the 
neighbourhood of the grim tower occupied by mine 
uncle. It was almost square, with a heavy beamed 
roof, and lighted on the one side high up in the wall by 
a small window, such as we have in our fortresses, so 
that, much as I might have desired, had I been a 
prisoner I could not have escaped that way, so narrow 
was the outside opening. At times the sea air would 
gurgle and bellow in this window and the dim light 
come in, but never the sunshine, as no ray could ever 
penetrate. As I lay there day by day I had a good 
chance to study those walls, and, as sick people do, 
read each separate stone and beam, not excepting 
the floor, when one day, having noticed the corner 
behind the heavy oaken door, it seemed that there 
was somewhat peculiar about the paving which was 
not found in the rest of the room. This idea did not 
come all at once, but gradually grew upon me. It 
seemed that at some time the stone in that corner 
had been removed or was made to remove, but why, 
I did not consider, but put the thought away from me, 
as sick persons will, in a half-dreamy manner. How- 
ever, the next time my gaze came to the spot in its 
casual wanderings, the idea rose again, and in time 
became fixed, so much so that I determined when 
my legs grew strong enough to move I would look 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


78 

closely into the matter. This determination was soon 
followed by a desire to get stronger, and had much 
to do with my final recovery. 

At last, one day, when I felt mine inward spirit 
and mine outward man equal to the task, knowing 
that I should be alone, I crawled out of my couch 
and staggered to that corner where lay the object 
of my suspicions. When I had steadied my head 
from the swimming sickness consequent on my first 
standing alone, I felt with my hands and discovered 
that the stone in the corner was a large flag or paving- 
stone apart from the others. I then groped for a place 
whereby it could be moved, and to my agreeable 
surprise found a great iron ring at one side next to 
the wall, set in a sort of mortise. I now knew that it 
was a trap leading secretly to somewhere, either down to 
the sea or to some dungeon. My desire for strength hence- 
forth overcame all other thoughts, and my mind was 
full set to solve this mystery for myself. I would 
now stand a little every day, and walk about my room 
to recover my legs, as it were ; and I soon showed a desire 
for nourishment which surprised mine uncle and the 
serving-man who brought me my meals. All the 
while I was possessed with a fear lest mine uncle with 
his prying eyes should discover the trap in the dark 
corner. But his observation, which was limited to 
me and my countenance, was puzzled to understand 
the root of my desire to live. In this manner, I soon got 
strong, and began to go out in the courtyard and get 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


79 


a sniff of air, sea, and mountains which quite revived me. 
Meanwhile I had secretly procured an old pike of strong 
metal, which I brought to my room, and one morning 
about daybreak awoke with the resolve to discover 
my mystery and find what was under the stone in 
the corner. Getting my pike and forcing it through 
the ring, which, in spite of its rust, I raised, I worked 
at the trap, using all my strength, until by degrees I 
had raided it so that it stood on edge, revealing to my 
gaze — what I had expected to see — a stairway in the 
living rock leading downward. Fixing the bar to my 
chamber door so as not to be disturbed from the out- 
side, I muttered a short prayer, and descended by 
what seemed a winding stair hewn out of the rock 
beneath the castle wall. Soon I thought that I per- 
ceived far below me a dim fight as of day. I knew 
but little of these matters at the time, but since have 
learned how these old castles had their secret passages 
and holds to hide in or to escape by sea or land in case 
of necessity. This passage, however, appeared to be 
one long unused, and it must have been built ages 
before by the founders, or perchance him of the wizard 
tower. At any rate, I was certain that none in the 
castle now knew of the trap and stairway until I had 
discovered it. Meanwhile, I continued to descend 
until I heard the lapping of water and felt a cool breeze 
of the sea wind on my cheek, and knew that I was 
near the ocean. Just then I turned a corner, and saw 
from the step or ledge whereon I stood a sort of window 


8o 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


or porthole that let in the daylight, and far at my 
feet a deep well or hole, where the sea washed in and 
out. I drew back with a shudder, for I saw it was a 
prison or black hole ; and, looking more carefully, I 
noticed that to an iron ring in the rocks was fastened 
a great chain which even now held part of a wasted 
skeleton, showing how some poor prisoner had died. 

Seeing that I could not proceed farther by this way, 
I went back, and after turning the corner of the wall 
by which I had come I fancied that I perceived a dim 
light and heard the muffled sound of voices on the 
other side of the wall. Putting mine eyes to the chink 
or crevice from which the light came, I saw that the 
wall, which had given way in this place, separated 
the stairway I was on from a similar one on the other 
side leading to the tower wherein mine uncle dwelt. 
The voices seemed now to come from above ; but at 
the foot of the other stairway I could see but dimly 
a quiet cove of the sea in what seemed a natural cave 
in the rocks, where the sea washed at high tide. As 
I gazed the voices came nearer, and I distinguished 
that of my priestly uncle in earnest conversation with 
someone else. Now the memory of that grim rumour 
of him which said that he had a familiar spirit, or 
demon, overcame me, as I heard the answering voice ; 
and, what with my recent sickness and a new fear 
which I could not explain, my knees went together 
beneath me, and I had like to have fled. Overmastering 
my dread, however, I resolved to remain and discover 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


81 


the meaning of this secret conversation, and what 
danger or terror it might mean to us all. Just then 
mine uncle came down the stairs ; his face was from 
me, but I could see him plainly in the dim light, and 
after him came this weird shape his double. I had now 
grown somewhat in stature and mind, but for all this I 
was yet but a lad, and this idea of a double seemed 
now proved before mine eyes, and lent me a new horror 
to my former knowledge of my strange uncle, and it 
needed all my courage to abide there and watch the 
grim priest and that hideous demon which report 
said he had conjured up by the magic of his power. 
Perchance, as some said, it might have been the dread 
Wizard himself. 

Mine uncle seemed much agitated by some feeling 
he had, for he said something in fierce tones, the words 
of which I did not catch ; and just then the demon 
turned to answer, and to my surprise revealed the face 
and the portly person of my lord the princely Bishop 
of the Catty nes. 

Ere I could recover from my astonishment at this 
new marvel, the bishop answered my uncle’s words 
somewhat ironically. “ So thine impetuous nephew 
hath begotten him a passion for my ward ? This is 
news. How hath he got to see her ? ” 

“ He is a foraying and meddlesome youth,” answered 
the priest, “ and in some chance skirting by thine 
abbey got espial of this same dove of thine. Perchance 
some of thy retainers gave him word of her beauty, 
6 


82 IAN OF THE ORCADES 

for it is common talk that your Grace hath a turn that 
way.” 

“ These are but base lies,” answered the bishop, 
more warmly, “ and which it little become th thy cloth 
to harbour of me. She is but a child, and of high 
birth, higher than you would dream, sir priest.” 

“ And hath a right royal dowry too, no doubt. Hath 
she not, my lord bishop ? ” returned mine uncle. 

“ That be, as is her origin, a secret betwixt myself 
and my puissant master the princely Albany,” answered 
the bishop. “ But thou shalt see her soon. She is 
but a tender blossom for this world, and as I have 
ever treated her with that kindness and respect which 
becometh her station, she looketh upon me as a sort 
of father, never having known any other. But this 
mad project of thy nephew ; what thinkest thou will 
become of it ? ” 

“ ’Tis but to carry her off, and out of thy power, 
and ’tis only the plan of a hot-headed boy and to be 
laughed at,” returned mine uncle. 

“ Did thy rude brother my lord earl but ken her 
house and fortune, it might mean a different matter, 
and quick ruin to all our schemes,” answered the 
bishop. “ This plan of ours must be brought to a 
quick conclusion.” Then followed a conference of a 
most cruel and fiendish nature, to which I was an 
unwilling audience, but which showed that mine evil 
uncle was privy to a dastardly plot to use his knowledge 
of the secret passage to seize the castle by entering by 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 83 

the sea, and kill or imprison my father. There was much 
more, which it is not necessary to relate, and some of 
which I but imperfectly caught, though it seemed 
that I also was brought into the matter, and from 
what I could gain their scheme was that I was to become 
a Churchman, and the whole wealth of the family was 
to be sequestered in this way. But I forgot all else 
save the despicable treachery of my fiendish uncle, 
who would lead an enemy into his brother’s hold and 
wreck his own blood for a brute hate, and I felt that 
had I had a weapon at the time, and him near me, I 
would have slain him for his infamy. 

While I was turning over these thoughts, the bishop 
gave a sharp whistle, and a small craft, manned by 
a couple of men, came into the cove below, and the 
bishop descending was soon carried out of my sight. 
As I stayed there dazed, mine uncle went up past me 
muttering to himself unto his tower above. I wasted 
no time for fear that he might take it upon him to 
pay an early visit to my chamber, so as soon as his 
steps died out in the distance I too arose, and, some- 
what cramped by my position, crawled up mine own 
stairs, hastily replaced my trap, and, unbarring my 
door, returned to my couch, for I felt I needed all my 
strength and much reflection upon this most perilous 
business. 


CHAPTER VIII 


Arouse, my men, and arm ye cap and thigh, 
We’ll ’siege this demon, seize him in his hold, 
And wreck his fortunes .” — Old Tale. 


I PONDERED long, and was much perplexed what 
to do, for I had no doubt but that mine uncle 
was determined in this project ; and as for the lord 
bishop, he had all to gain and naught to lose, as well 
as an old debt to pay unto mine ill-guided father. It 
had also been shown me that no good was intended to 
myself, save that I was to be used as the instrument 
of their common ambition to bring about the ruin of 
our house. The lord bishop’s part in the matter I 
put aside as being but the natural role he would play 
had he the opportunity. But mine uncle’s attitude 
was what deeply amazed and angered me. There was 
no doubt that this man, one of great gifts and parts, 
had he seen right to put them to proper use, was now 
possessed by a spirit of dread revenge which ruled his 
life. As I afterward learned, this idea or passion had 
governed his actions from an early date, even when he 
and my father were young men such as Hugh and I now 
were. The wrong of his position, and my father’s 

84 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


85 


treatment of him, acting upon a fierce, cruel nature 
of uncommon subtlety, had warped his soul into this one 
brute idea, that if he could not rule he would wreck 
those who did — even as dreamed that great Prince of 
Darkness spoken of by the fathers, and who fell by 
his ambition. It outraged my spirit to know that a 
man of my blood, or of any blood, could descend to 
such a depth as to coin so much of learning, subtlety 
of mind, and years of thought, to devote them to one 
grim vengeance. This thought so affected me that I 
could scarcely tolerate the idea that this man had 
lived so close to me, and had actually nursed me back 
to life, and that not without some human tenderness. 
As I lay thus, pondering, the door opened, and in his 
silent, patronising manner mine uncle entered, and 
stood before me, as if naught had happened, and with 
a calm demeanour and unruffled brow, as though he were 
not at that instant planning the destruction of his 
house, but were some benevolent mediciner, asked me 
how I did. 

Now it was a peculiar power this man had over me, 
that, hate him as I did in his absence, and even in his 
presence for his sardonic, evil manner, yet he had a 
gift of speech and persuasion, and a way of putting 
matters that either placed me in the wrong or else 
made me doubt sometimes that my ill thoughts con- 
cerning him were just. Even now, when he spoke 
and looked upon me, I began to doubt whether all I 
had seen and heard in the passage beneath were not 


86 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


the creation of a mind disordered by illness, or the 
vision of my morning sleep ; and were it not that I 
could see that flagstone in the corner, and remembered 
his fiendish plot too recently, he would have overcome 
me by his bland presence and seeming kindness. 

Matters had gone too far by now for me to temporise, 
yet I could not face this man in the open and charge 
him with his treachery until I had had more thought 
with myself. So I turned my face to the wall and 
said that I had slept but indifferent well. “ For, 
mine uncle,” I said, “ I have had most fearful dreams, 
and they were concerning thee and this castle.” And 
I turned about and looked at him suddenly fair in the 
face ; whereat his countenance went white, and then 
dark with a malicious scowl. 

“ Thou dreamedst of me ? ” he cried. 

“ Yea,” I continued, still watching his face, “ yea, 
of thee ! I dreamed that thou didst lead men up out 
of the sea, who did burn and plunder all here ! ” 

I got no further. He blanched as I spoke, and then 
cried, as though I had not been there, “ Did I believe 
such lore, I would think that the wizard’s spirit had 
fallen upon him.” Then, turning to me, he said, 
“ And if thy wild dreams were true, couldst thou blame 
me, and thou least of all ? ” 

“’Twere base and unnatural were it true,” I cried. 
“ The creatures of different land war on each other, 
but those of a kind band together. Yea,” I cried, 
“ it were base and unnatural.” 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


87 


“ Boy,” he answered fiercely, “ and what am I but 
base and unnatural in the begetting, even as thou 
art,” he cried in the venom of his rage. 

“ ’Tis a foul he ! ” I answered, forgetting all else, 
and, leaping from my bed, faced him there on the 
floor, “ and none knoweth it better than thou. And I 
tell thee I believe thou hadst a hand in that ill matter ! ” 

Then a queer thing happened which almost quelled 
mine anger against him. “ Ian,” he said, “ I can tell 
thee truth, that in that matter I had but one hand, 
and that was for thy good ! Didst thou know all 
thou wouldst bless me for ever, as thy mother did, 
who was a good woman.” 

“ It may be so,” I answered ; “ but I tell thee straight, 
one wrong doth not justify another.” 

“ Boy, thou art a fool ! ” he answered, losing his 
fierceness, perchance seeing he had gone too far. “ Thy 
dreams concerning thine ill uncle, who hath saved thy 
life, have turned thy head. Thou wilt live to bless 
me yet. Forget thy mermen ; they are but shadows. 
If I do not bring more flesh-and-blood creatures than 
the seamen of thy dreams into this castle, thou hast 
but little to fear from me,” and he laughed scornfully. 
But there was a lowering look on his face as he went 
out that gave the lie to his words. 

I now made up my mind that it was useless to parry 
with this man, who was too far gone in his ill-schemes 
to be touched by any human feeling, but that I must in 
some way warn the castle of its danger, for I knew 


88 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


that within a few days this secret project would be 
brought into action, and all resistance be too late. 
This seemed to me, however, to be a difficult matter 
to manage without bringing upon me mine uncle’s 
ill-will and devilish skill of revenge, for with all my 
pride I feared the man, as did all who knew him. I 
was therefore in desperate case how to work the matter. 

But an event happened which brought me out of 
my quandary and saved me the trouble of unmasking 
mine uncle’s deviltries. While I lay there my door 
opened a second time — this time suddenly, and in 
burst my lordly brother Hugh, his face once more 
aglow with the old-time fervour, and a new light of 
manliness I had not afore seen thereon. 

“ Rouse up, my sad brother ! ” he cried, “ rouse 
thee up, and get thee' ready ! Forget thine illness, for 
I have great and glorious news. We are to besiege 
the cunning Churchman in his hold.” 

“ Nay ! ” I cried, and I leapt up in astonishment 
with a queer trembling, for this was a light out of my 
darkness. “ Not the bishop’s castle ? ” 

“ The very same,” he cried. “ His time hath 
come ! ” 

“ When doth this happen ? ” I asked. 

“ This very even,” he answered. 

“ Thank Heaven ! ” I cried, forgetting all in my 
surprise and gladness at this new turn of matters. 
“ We will beat them yet ! ” 

“ Ho, ho ! ” he laughed, “ thou art no Churchman 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


89 


then! my clerkly Ian. Thon shalt ride with me indeed. 
But hearken, my sedate brother, I have other news 
for thine ears. We are not only to smoke out this 
same Church fox, but we are, like knights of old, to 
release imprisoned beauty. There is a fair maiden, 
like as the morn for beauty and form and manner. 
I have seen her, and dost thou know, my brother, I 
think that she hath favoured me by a glance ? My 
father hath discovered that she is no less than the 
Lady Margaret Seton, daughter of the late Lord Seton 
of that ilk, who is ward to the King, whom men know 
to be imbecile, and who alloweth his brother Albany 
to keep her in charge. Now, for some purpose of his 
own, Albany hath handed her over to charge of this 
worldly bishop for safe-keeping in these northern 
wilds, where she had been lost, and her beauty wasted, 
had not I caught sight of her. Now, my father hath 
taken vow to release her and punish this bishop at 
the same time.” 

“ But the Duke of Albany ! Wilt thou not make a 
dangerous enemy ? ” 

“ Dangerous,” he replied. 44 Not more than he hath 
been in the past ! He hath an eye on the throne, and 
would get rid of my royal cousin Rothsay did he dare, 
so men say ; but my father is of those who have an 
eye on his deviltries, which will bring him low yet, for 
all his climbing so high.” 

Then a thought struck me, and I said, 44 Doth our 
uncle know of this intended sortie ? ” 


9 o 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


“Yea,” lie answered, “as all in the castle know 
what hath been in preparation for this good hour or 
more.” 

“ Then will he spoil all ! ” I cried. “ See that he 
hath not left the hold.” 

“ What mean you ? ” answered Hugh in amaze- 
ment. “ He would not go so far. He such a traitor ? ” 

“ I may not speak further,” I cried ; “ but see hath 
he gone.” And we both hurried out into the passage, 
where we met the lady countess’s page seeking the 
priest, as she desired to hold Mass for the souls of those 
whom she feared might be lost, for it was against her 
will and advice that this attack had been planned. 

“ Is the father not here ? ” cried the page. “ I have 
knocked at his door for some time back, but have heard 
naught. He must be at private devotions.” 

“ See that he hath not left the castle ! ” cried Hugh ; 
and the youth, hurrying out, soon returned, saying 
none had gone out, as strict orders were given that 
none should leave the bounds, as was the custom, so 
that he must still be within. I had mine own suspicions, 
however, as to mine uncle’s powers of egress not known 
to all; but as I thought matters were now all right, 
and that it could not be possible for him in so short 
a time to give warning to the bishop, I entered with 
the others into the ardour of the preparation for the 
coming sortie. 

All within the castle and outer yard were now busy with 
preparations : furbishing of armour, testing of weapons, 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


9i 


marshalling of retainers, and selecting of others to take 
their places ; for those who were not to go were to 
keep guard at Girnigoe in case a return sortie were 
made in reprisal. All who could be gathered from 
far and near among the earl’s vassals were brought 
in by messengers sent out early that morning. In 
this manner by the afternoon quite a small army were 
assembled with pennoned spears and bows undei* the 
walls and within the courtyard of the castle. I, like 
others, had been provided with armour and sword, as 
I was to ride beside my brother, who, strong against the 
lady countess’s will, was bent on being in the front 
of the assault. Having remonstrated with him in 
vain, she returned to the chapel, where at the shrine 
of her favourite saint she pleaded for herself, her 
turbulent lord, and valiant son, being accompanied 
there by those of her women who, like herself, were 
religious, or feigned to be, being her followers — at 
least those of them who were not engaged in helping 
to get ready those who were to issue forth for a no less 
purpose than the storming of the house of a prince of 
the Church. 

Early in the afternoon my priestly uncle came forth 
from his chamber, looking as if he had been engrossed 
in his studies, and had no more worldly aims or passions 
in his mind. Passing with a furtive smile the eager 
preparations in the courtyard, he went to his duty in 
the chapel. Whether he had got out of the castle in 
the meantime by some way he had by sea, or had sent 


92 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


some message, I could not tell at the time ; but after- 
ward I understood that he had tried to do so and had 
failed. If this were true it was marvellous the manner 
in which he hid his defeat and went calmly about his 
office. 

When all was ready for the foray, which was to be 
undertaken in the evening so as to effect a complete 
surprise under cover of night, we were all assembled 
in the courtyard ; that is, all those who formed the 
main body of the knight’s followers, who were on horses 
and ponies with footmen to run behind. A trumpet 
was then sounded, the great bell of the courtyard was 
rung, and the command was issued by the castle 
chamberlain that we were all to assemble, as many as 
could enter, in the chapel, there to be assoiled in case 
of death, or to be blessed in assurance of victory 
ere our going forth ; as was, and is yet, the custom 
of our nobles and their clans of retainers, even when 
issuing forth to do battle with their neighbours. Now 
there were some of our following who, in the depth of their 
hearts, were doubtful as to the righteousness of this 
assault of a churchly hold, so that this command to 
be assoiled and blessed came as a comfort to some, and 
a thunderclap to others, who, not knowing the inward 
nature of the rights or wrongs of either parties, were 
at doubt with themselves how far Mother Church 
could, or would, bless and protect those in attack on 
one of her high servants or ministers. However, it 
is not for those who serve to deliberate, but to do their 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


93 


lord’s bidding ; and there were men in our party who 
would have taken the bishop’s own assoilment and 
have hung his very self that same night, so grim and 
sordid were their ideas of earth and heaven and the 
ruling of this sad world. Therefore, without murmur, 
more than men ought, who walk in a mist toward a 
quaking morass whereof they know not the footing, 
or as brute beasts who tremble in their limbs but still 
abide the commands of the rider, we all went into the 
side-door from the courtyard, and thence into the main 
aisle of the chapel, where, in carven stone and ancient 
splendour, there gloomed the tombs of the great lords 
and dames of my father’s house. 

There we stood at the far end of the aisle as though 
we feared to go forward ; but, for the most part of us, 
awaiting the command of our liege lord. I, for my 
part, held more wonderment than fear of this strange 
affair, watching to see how it would end ; knowing, 
as I did, that my priestly uncle was the one to have 
the last say ere it were accomplished. 

There we stood in the central nave of the church, 
and at the other end, where dim lights burned on the 
holy altar, stood mine uncle in his priestly robes, his 
back to us as if in silent prayer or ghostly meditation. 
Below him, on the outside of the altar steps, as near 
as a woman may go according to our custom, knelt 
the lady countess and her pious women in close com- 
munion over their prayer-strings for the woes of this 
barbarous world. 


94 


TAN OF THE ORCADES 


We made in that place but a weird and dread picture 
and an ill contrast : we, on our part, being but a horde 
of wild men of blood and war, with spear and sword 
and bow, where the late light of day streamed through 
the mullioned windows, bloody with ancient scutcheons, 
on the grim, gross, passion-graven faces ; and opposite 
to us that other more peaceful, more austere group at 
the other end of the chapel, the stern priest and those 
sombrely garbed women at their silent prayers. For 
a moment I felt as if our entrance were rather an act 
of sacrilege than one of religion. But my meditations 
were rudely broken by a stir behind us, and my martial 
father, the earl, in full armour, carrying his unsheathed 
sword, strode forward and cried out — 

“ Sir priest, as lord baron of these territories, I 
command you to give to these men-at-arms here 
assembled the word and seal of Mother Church’s bene- 
diction on our present engagement, so that they may 
go forth in good soul to battle.” 

At this the women arose, led by the lady countess, 
and shrank to one side of the altar, as if in expectation 
and dread, and mine uncle turned him slowly about 
with that sardonic smile on his face, and as quietly as 
though addressing but one person, spake thus — 

“ My good lord and brother, it were well that Holy 
Church knew where she gave her blessing, lest in the 
dark broils of this ill world she assoiled the blade that 
struck her own holy breast.” 

f “ Presumptuous priest,” cried the earl, “ thou 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


95 


knowest where we go, and thou knowest why, yea, 
indeed to punish the unchurchly bishop of this territory 
under my lordship, for his unchurchly crimes, and to 
loosen a high-born maiden from this wolf’s licentious 
clutches. It is for this reason we demand thy blessing 
on this our expedition.” 

“ Thou knowest, my brother,” cried the priest, 
“ that it were sacrilege to bless such a sortie against 
the sacred person of a prince of the Church, and even 
thine own mad lust of conquest cannot carry thee 
so far.” 

“ Brother me an thou darest, thou foul bastard ! ” 
cried the irate earl, “ and I will unpriest thee with 
this blade,” and he would have advanced, but the lady 
countess stepped forward. 

“ My lordly husband,” she said, “ forbear to add 
to thy many sins that of Cain, and that at the foot of 
the altar. Hearken to me, thy wife, and go not forth 
on this ill attack on the Church of God.” 

“ Madam,” cried the earl, “ my time is but short, 
but I say to thee, that I go not forth against the Church, 
but for the Church’s good, to punish one who hath 
unchurched himself and foully usurped the place of a 
prince by his arrogance and love of worldly powers. 
I go not against a holy father, but against one who 
hath taken upon him my lordly functions in this mine 
earldom ; who hath meddled with my vassals, collected 
my tithes and fees of feud, as belonging to me only, 
as this foul priest, my brother, well knoweth.” 


g6 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


“ ’Tis false ! ” cried mine uncle ; “ and if thou darest 
come but a step nearer I will hurl the curse of Holy 
Church on you and yours, so that ye go forth to 
damnation for evermore.” 

“ Nay ! nay ! ” cried the lady countess, “ curse 
not, he will relent ! ” 

“ He shall do this or die ! ” cried the earl. “ Away, 
woman ! ” and pushing the lady aside he confronted 
the priest at the altar steps. 

“ Now, false priest,” he cried, “ I give thee but three 
turns of the hour-glass in which to come to my bidding 
and bless these men, or thou wilt be a dead priest and 
past all cursing for ever.” 

At this the lady countess shrieked, the women 
screamed in terror, and even the soldiers around me 
shrank back in dread of the deed about to be com- 
mitted ; and indeed it were a dreadful one were it to 
happen, as against a brother, a man of God, and at 
the foot of the altar, for few of them knew as I did 
the real ill-thoughts and deeds of mine uncle Angus. 
It also seemed to me that the priest in his bitter malice 
would dare the worst, even his own death, to foil the 
man whom he hated worst in the world. Now, knowing 
this, and how important it was to us all that such a 
dread crime should not be laid at the doors of our 
house, and that it was necessary also to check the proud 
bishop in his career, I felt it about time that I also took 
a hand in this matter, for, lad as I was, I knew that I 
held a power of knowledge over my priestly uncle 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


97 


such as would make him come to our terms. So I 
plucked up what courage I could muster and stepped 
forward. 

“ My lord earl,” I cried, “ wilt thou let me speak 
but one word to mine uncle ere this matter be decided ? ” 
At this the earl turned on me. 

“ Boy,” he cried, “ thou ? What hast thou to do 
with me and this man ? ” 

“ But too much,” I cried, “ as my sorrow knoweth, 
but methinks that if I have one word aside with him 
he will grant us his blessing.” At this all were astonished 
save the priest, who merely looked at me and then 
lowered his eyes. But the earl said, “ Say what thou 
likest, boy, and if thou hast any foolish kindness toward 
yon Church hound, better say it quick, for his moments 
be short.” 

“ My moments be as short as Heaven may make 
them,” answered the priest. 

But I hurried to his side and clutched him by the 
sleeve, speaking in a low tone, but fiercely, in his ear. 

“ This is no time for madness,” I cried, “ thou must 
give this blessing, and let us begone, at thy peril.” 

“ Thou fool, thou weak fool,” he answered fiercely, 
“ thou hadst better leave plotting to thy betters,” and 
he made as though to shake me off. But I would not 
be put aside in this manner. 

“ Look here, mine uncle,” I cried, “ I am no man’s 
fool, much less thine, thou perjured priest. I know 
thee and thy grim soul, and dost thou not give us thy 
7 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


98 

blessing, and let us go peaceful on this errand, I will 
tell aloud in this presence my dream of this early 
morning of thy leading men from the sea up into this 
castle to murder and plunder thine own people.” And 
I looked him straight in the face, and plain as were 
my words, he read that in mine eyes which showed 
him clearly that I knew all, and had him and his schemes 
at my tongue’s end. He knew also, as I did, that did 
I reveal this dastard act of his at this time, death 
would be but a gentle punishment to that which he 
would receive at my lord’s hands; and I have since 
thought that it was not fear alone which gave me my 
hold of him in this case, but a sense of pride which 
the man had, which, while it allowed him to do this 
deed in secret, could not stand the disgrace of its being 
known. At any rate, he seemed as it were to wilt 
and shrink up into himself, then, thinking a moment, 
he said in bitter tones, “ Thou marplot, thou seemest 
born to be my curse ! ” 

“ Quick, sirrah,” I cried, “ wilt thou do this, or I 
speak ? ” and I straightened up as if to carry out my 
words, when he said quick and low, “ I will, but thou 
shalt rue this hour yet.” And I knew that he meant 
what he said. 

“ Do it, and quickly,” I cried, and I went back to 
my place. During this short discussion of ours the 
earl had been striding up and down. 

“ Well, sir priest ? ” he cried. But even now, when 
he had to come down from his defiant stand, this clever 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


99 

man did not seem to give in to us, but rather to make 
us feel his condescension. 

“ My lord earl,” he answered, “ brother I call ye 
not, all that thou canst force from me in mine office 
as priest, I give to thee as by power of carnal strength, 
but as man to man I tell thee no good can come of 
this matter, but seeing that I have to do mine office, 
I fulfil it not of mine own will.” 

Then commanding us by action of his hand to kneel 
down, we all obeyed, the wild earl and his grim war- 
hardened followers kneeling there in good faith to 
receive that blessing from Heaven which they had 
compelled at the hands of this grim priest who blest 
us, if bless he did, in his polished Latin and cursed 
us with his eyes. 

It was a strange scene and long remembered by me, 
though one but too common in our age, when Church 
and State are both corrupt, and at constant strife with 
each other in struggle for that power which they both 
desire to tread down and imprison the minds and souls 
of the common people. 

During all this time the lady countess had bowed 
herself in much grief and terror in front of the altar 
steps, in attitude of one who looks on rather with horror 
at a sacrilege than of one who taketh part in an act 
of blessing. When the words were at last uttered 
which gave us the Church’s authority to go on our 
expedition, the grim earl rose up from where, on one 
knee, sword in hand, he had remained to receive, rather 


LOT CL 


TOO 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


as a right than a boon, the churchly assoilage ; and 
turning to his followers, cried, “Now to horse, my men, 
that we may speed to our work, and make short shrift 
for this foul usurping bishop ! ” With that we all 
arose and poured forth from the chapel, and in a short 
time after were riding forth from the castle wall, turning 
our faces in grim battle-mood in the direction of the 
churchly hold of my Lord Bishop of the Catty nes. 


CHAPTER IX 

“ There is no height to which his soul soared not, 

No dark to which it did not deep descend ; 

But when loud battle’s wrack and ruin roared. 

He made a wondrous end.” — A non. 

“ Ambition, worldly ambition, thou sayest ! 

It filled his churchly heart till Death assoiled him.” 

“ The Cardinal ,” a Drama. 

TN telling this tale of my life, it hath been my one 
aim to keep direct to those matters which led 
up to the gravest tragedy of all, but if memory tricks 
us by false mirages of the past we are but mortal. 

It seemeth to me that this life of ours is but a sort 
of sleep or dream, a trance in which nature hath steeped 
us, as men are drugged by poppy fumes ; and that 
in this dream men spend their whole existence, the play- 
things of a few geniuses, who, more than the ordinary, 
are wide awake in matters pertaining to life, and who 
by their power over others rule this world. 

How true this may be, at no time of my life did I 

seem more wide awake to the affairs of this existence 

than on that night, when we issued forth from the 

gates of Girnigoe, and yet when I again entered those 

same gates, it seemed that all my life before with its 

101 


102 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


care and boyish, sorrow had been but a foolish sleep 
from which I had awakened. 

Many a party of armsmen had ridden out from 
those grim gates for their own weal or woe, and many 
on as grim a project, but I doubt me if there ever had 
been so much difference of opinion on the merits of 
the case in which they fought as we held then. But 
whatever their thoughts, they rode, or walked, or ran, 
as the case was, under the darkness, as became good 
vassals of a great lord, content to fight under his banner, 
leaving to him and his the blame and scathe, so that 
it went not so far as to ruin their own souls. Many 
of them had fought so many feuds, and in so many 
causes, that it mattered little who the foe was, if there 
were but promise of booty and carousing at the end 
thereof. Then so grim were the punishments of traitors 
and deserters, that these men would as soon have defied 
the King himself, as go back from the direct order 
commanded by such a lord as my father. 

It was a wild northern night, with some promise 
of coming storm, as though the very elements were 
in sympathy with the stormy, turbulent passions of 
men, as we wound along that bleak sea-waste, keeping 
close inland so that no spies from the bishop’s hold 
might see us and give the alarm. 

The bishop’s castle or keep was a great building, 
much added to of late. It had been at one time the 
tower of a robber-baron, a scion of our family, who 
had given my ancestors and the peaceful inhabitants 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


103 


much trouble and uneasiness, both by sea and land, 
until, so tradition said, he was captured and burnt in 
his own tower, to the delight and relief of all save 
himself and a few turbulent retainers who shared his 
life and death. This castle stood at some little distance 
from the sea, and it suiting the bishop’s plans, he had 
got it granted for Church purposes on pretence of found- 
ing a monastery, and had added to and strengthened 
it, so as to make it a rival in some ways to my father’s 
hold, not only annoying him, but making his own 
vassals a terror to our retainers, who dwelt in the 
neighbourhood. Around this keep, in a sort of glen 
or strath, there had gradually grown a small village 
or group of huts of the meaner sort, which were the 
dwellings of the bishop’s people, who like parasites 
lived upon that to which they were attached. To 
reach the hold we had to pass through this village, 
where we found the dwellings wrapped in repose, as 
of those who sleep in safety, having no fear of enemies. 
Now it would have been better for the bishop had 
he been more wary, and less secure in his own self- 
conceit, and that he had held a greater fear of mine 
unhappy father. In which case he would have been 
on his guard. The truth was, he had been led through 
intercourse with mine uncle to look with a high con- 
tempt upon my father, and to regard him as one rather 
fearing than to be feared. To this might be added 
the great power the Church believed itself to hold over 
the superstitious minds of men, so that it were con- 


104 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


sidered eternal damnation to a man’s soul to attack 
the Church or her vassals, no matter what the provoca- 
tion might be. Even the Church in her conceited 
sloth hath been led to see of late that this fear of her 
groweth less and less, until there be many of us who 
come to think such superstitious ideas to be confined 
to foolish women and children frighted by old monks’ 
tales. As it was, this midnight foray of ours, though it 
struck at first a shock of horror through Scotland, had 
much to do with killing the superstitious fear of the 
Churchmen as a class beyond the reach of carnal weapon 
and worldly punishment for their sins. 

As it happened, the proud bishop, being filled with 
his own schemes of invading our castle, had little 
dreamed that a counter attack was so near its execution, 
so that he was caught like a rat in the trap of his own 
conceit. 

Leaving our horses close at hand in the charge of 
footmen, who in case of repulse were to await us, or 
in case of our being out-numbered were to secure 
them and come to our aid, the larger party of us ap- 
proached the outer gate of the keep, which, owing to 
the trust of the bishop in his own security as a Church- 
man, was without a drawbridge, and was held only 
by a wooden gate or portcullis which was raised or 
lowered at need. As it happened, no enemy being ex- 
pected, and the men-at-arms being otherwise employed, 
or more likely asleep, the gate was left in charge of 
a drowsy old sacristan or warder, a Churchman himself, 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 105 

but of a sort too common in these days, where the 
Church goeth no further than the garb, and the inner 
man is but vassal to drunkenness and sloth. This old 
man being stupid over his cups, heard not our approach, 
and at our demand for entrance to see the lord bishop 
raised the portcullis ; then seeing us to be so many, was so 
terrorised at our appearance that he incontinently ran 
screaming for help. It was but an instant ere, with a 
loud shout of triumph and hate, our party invaded the 
castle. 

Now I know not how it was, whether the sight of 
that poor, cowardly old priest or the real sacrilege of 
the thing overcame me, or the shrieks and yells of the 
surprised denizens of the place, or that it was the first 
feeling that all have on entering into an act of human 
destruction ; but my heart forsook me with the will to 
take part in so wholesale a carnage as now ensued. 
By this time the bishop’s armsmen had assembled 
themselves and were making a brave though unhappy 
defence of the place. Hugh, who had been at my 
side when we entered, had hurried on in the van of 
the attackers, and shoved aside, as those are who will 
not advance, I soon found myself in a small alcove of 
a sort of entrance where the moon shone through in 
the shape of a cross on the stone floor. All about me 
and in front was forsaken and desolate, for the assaulting 
force had swept all before it and had disappeared into 
the upper and inner rooms of the castle. I could now 
hear the clash of arms and the yells and curses of men 


io6 IAN OF THE ORCADES 

in mortal combat, where the onset was all on one side, 
like to wolves who have caught their prey ; and on 
the other that grim fierceness of men who fight in a 
desperate case for life itself, and self it at as dear a 
price as nature will afford them. All this noise and 
sound of battle sickened me into a nausea of the whole 
matter, and a horror that men could do such things, 
and I made up my mind that I would go forth and have 
naught to do with work which seemed to me to be the 
action of demons rather than men. So I drew my 
blade to defend me did I run into an ambush, for through 
all this the sense of self-preservation seemed to stay 
with me, though I feared naught for myself, for the 
horror of the whole business was one which overcame 
all other feeling. I left the alcove, and was feeling my 
way out through the dark passage which led to the 
outer gate, when on a sudden I heard a cry far above 
me in the centre of the castle, where the fight seemed 
to me to be the dreadest and at its height. This cry 
came to me as that of a child or woman, and there 
was somewhat in the sound as of the voice of one in 
deadly fear or despair, which went to my heart and 
drove out all other sense but that of terrible indignation 
and pity. Turning my face, I retraced my steps inward 
with all the speed I might through that dark and 
gruesome place in the direction whence that sound 
came, and there was that in my heart which made 
me feel that if even the earl my father or my brother 
Hugh had stood in my path betwixt me and that 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


107 

beseeching voice, I had cut my way at the expense of 
all, even life itself. 

Following after that pitiful cry there had come a 
great yell as of triumph, and then all was still for a 
moment, then the noise of carnage seemed to revive 
in other parts of the castle. Feeling my way under 
stone archways and up great stairs past dead or wounded 
men, who groaned feebly or cursed me as I went, or 
beseeched me for aid, I hurried along, watching lest I 
should slip on the pavements wet with blood in places 
where some life had gone out. Thus I came at last to 
a great doorway through which a light shone, and 
stumbling over many dead bodies found myself in 
what was the great dining-hall of the place. It was 
a room long and high, hung with great escutcheons and 
armour. At the far end was a huge fireplace with ancient 
arms carven in stone in the wall above. Down the 
middle ran a great table, and at the lower end near 
where I stood, a crowd of my father’s men were huddled 
together as if in a maze. Some of them were wounded, 
and they all were bloody and much breathed with the 
recent fight. Here evidently at the door the worst of 
the fray had been, for the bishop’s men had chosen 
this spot for their last stand, and lay in great heaps 
of dead on the floor of the passage and the entrance 
to the hall. I forced my way past these men, who stood 
sword and spear in hand as if arrested and waiting for 
some matter to happen, and saw in front of me, in a 
space below the table, my father and three of his men, 


108 IAN OF THE ORCADES 

their swords wet with blood, while at their feet lay the 
body of the Bishop of the Cattynes clothed in armour 
neath his churchly robes, stretched prone in death, 
and beyond the body, where all could see her, like some 
proud animal at bay, stood a young girl of fair and 
noble beauty, who seemed by her attitude to be partly 
beseeching and partly scorning the brutal crowd who 
stood before her. “ Ye have committed foul crime 
against Holy Church, and ye have slain my father, 
evil men,” she cried, as I gained the door. 

“ His daughter ! Ho, ho ! his daughter ; more like 
his leman,” cried the earl, his passion not yet abated 
in spite of the deed he had done. “ Take her away 
or slay her.” 

“ I dare ye to touch me,” she answered, but her 
face was like snow for whiteness, and she clung to the 
table for support, and I saw that for all her pride of 
demeanour and defiance of these terrible men she was 
in great inward terror. The men hesitated, for with 
all their gross natures there was somewhat about this 
maid which made them fear to touch her. 

“ She is yours ! ” cried the earl. “ Bishop’s leman 
or bishop’s daughter, ’tis all one ! ” 

I saw that he was mad with the fight, or he would 
have seen that it was no common girl who stood before 
him, and he must have clean forgot in his savage ferocity 
the pretended reason for this whole assault, namely, the 
rescue of the fair lady now before him. Also her grave 
defiance, and her naming the bishop as her father, had 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


109 

angered and blinded him, so that he did a dastard and 
brutal thing in leaving her to the will of those evil men. 

“ Sir earl,” I cried, “ stay ! ” but he laughed a harsh 
laugh and turned to me. 

“ They shall not have her,” I cried, striding forward. 
“ Dost thou know ” 

Whereat he interrupted me, “ And dost thou want 
her also ? ” he scoffed. “ But I forgot, thou art also a 
power with the Church. Thou beginnest young, but thy 
proclivities are of the right sort. Thou shalt have her, 
canst thou get her. Bishop’s leman to priest’s boy ! ” 
and with a scornful laugh he ordered his men out and 
strode after, leaving us alone. I had now time to observe 
her more closely as we stood there in that place of great- 
ness and carnage, the dead bishop lying betwixt us, and I 
noticed that though she tried to hold her bravely up, she 
looked as though she might swoon. I felt that we stood 
in a strange relation, and that, as the castle was filled 
with cruel men bent on spoil and pillage, her case was 
a desperate one. As I looked at her our eyes met, 
hers at first scornful and brave as of one in ill case 
and unyielding, and mine wondering at and pitying 
her fair beauty and girlish defencelessness. 

“ Lady,” I cried, “ fear me not, I will not harm 
thee. But tell me truly art thou not she whom men 
call the Lady Margaret Seton, ward to this same bishop 
who now lieth dead betwixt us ? ” She looked at me 
doubtful, and then seeing that I offered her no hurt, 
said, “ Whoever thou art, who knoweth me, thou 


IIO 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


art over young yet for such sacrilegious butchery,” 
and she tried to speak me with scorn, but I noticed 
that there was a quaver in her voice that savoured 
more of tears than of pride. 

“ Lady,” I answered, “ think not that this is of my 
will, though my father hath good cause of feud, as I 
well know, against yon dead man.” 

“ Then thou art his son ? ” she answered quickly, 
eyeing me with a new scorn, born of the knowledge 
of the relationship and somewhat else, as I was soon 
to learn. 

“ I would but aid thee, lady,” I cried eagerly. 

“ Aid me ? ” she cried. “ And ’tis thy fool ambition 
for a girl’s hand that hath caused all this ill and death. 
Aid me, sir ? Thou hast caused trouble enough. 
Thou art but a sad and an evil wooer.” 

“ I know not what you say, lady,” I cried. “ I 
never heard of thee but twice before, and am here but 
to save thy life.” 

“ My life, such as it is, is in God’s hands,” she answered. 

“ So it were, my lady, but a moment since, when 
save for mine intervention thou hadst had an ill fate,” 
I answered, for it angered me to have her scorn and 
doubt me. Then I continued, “ Why didst thou call 
thyself his daughter ? ” and I pointed to the bishop’s 
body. 

“ He was as a father to me,” she answered, “ and 
all such that I have known in this world.” 

“ Thou wilt have a friend in me, lady, wilt thou but 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


hi 


come with me,” I said quickly, for I heard men coming 
our way, and was afraid for her did she stay in this 
place, and I was also not sure what my father might 
do did his mood change. 

“ With you, sir ? Wherefore should I go with you, 
sir ? And yet I know not what to do except to die. 
Oh, sir, if you would but lead me somewhere where a good 
woman were, for I am a poor girl.” 

“ Lady,” I cried, “ canst thou not believe me that 
I would only protect thee. I came with this party, 
but had naught to do with the slaughter, for I have 
a horror of all this,” I cried. “ See my sword, it hath 
tasted no man’s blood.” 

“ Then thou art no warrior and but a poor protec- 
tion,” she cried. 

“Nay but, lady, as I was going out in hate of it 
all I heard thy cry for help, and I could not but come.” 

“ Thou heardest me cry ? ” she answered ; “ the 
cowards ! They said he was an ill man, but he was 
good to me.” 

“Yet I tell you straight,” I answered, “ that for 
all that he well deserved his fate.” 

“ Sir ! ” she cried. 

“ Yes, lady,” I answered ; “ but he is dead, and 
thou art in danger. Let me take thee to a place of 
succour.” 

“ I know thee not,” she answered ; “ thou lookest 
honest and kind. But where wouldst thou take me ? ” 

“ To Castle Girnigoe,” I answered. 


112 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


“ Dread Heaven ! ” she cried, “ not to the place 
of the lord who hath slain him.” 

“ And why not ? ” I cried. “ His countess is a 
good and pious lady, withal somewhat proud as thou 
art, but a great woman and a good guardian for such 
as thee.” 

“ Am I never to be mine own mistress ? ” she said, 
and the tears coursed down her pallid cheeks. 

“ Wilt thou come ? ” I cried, for I feared to stay 
longer. 

“ An thou art true to me,” she cried, “ an 
wilt be my friend, I needs must, but ere I go wilt thou 
promise that he shall have decent burial ? ” 

“ Though he were a bad man, my lady,” I answered, 
“ yet because he was friend to thee he shall have 
decent burial, as becometh a Churchman.” Then 
she knelt by his side, folded his hands and kissed his 
brow, and I marvelled at the presence of mind of this 
young girl, so slight of body and so delicately nurtured, 
having the spirit to hover over this dead man who 
little merited all the love and reverence she paid him. 

Just as she knelt there I heard a sound behind me, 
and turning saw a big man-at-arms of our castle, one 
of the earl’s braggarts, who was feared by many, and 
whom I hated and dreaded above all the castle servants. 
He came rushing in with his sword drawn, having no 
doubt stayed behind in search of plunder. So soon 
as he saw me and the lady he rushed forward and 
would have seized her, when I sprang at him. 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


ii3 

“ Stand aside, my cockerel,” he cried, “ and let 
men have their spoils,” and he glowered at me. “ Come, 
my fair maid,” he said, “ give me those jewels that thou 
wearest, and a kiss of thy lady lips. The good bishop 
is dead, he will need them no longer.” 

At these words, spoken by this rude man in her 
presence, and to her, there came over me somewhat 
of that feeling of power and command which I had 
had even as a child, but now as a more manly impulse. 

“ Touch her an thou art a dead man ! ” I cried, 
while the poor lady rose from where she knelt, and 
shrank over by the table, with a wild horror on her 
face. 

“ Ho, ho ! and thou wouldst have her, my sprouting, 
left-handed lord,” he cried, and he laughed in my face. 
But the man was a fool when he offered that insult to 
me. I had been man enough even for him, great 
hulking swordsman as he was, for I had determined 
to die ere he should harm her, but at this brutal affront 
from his base lips, and in her presence, all seemed to 
leap into fire in my brain. There came a mist before 
mine eyes, and I had but one impulse, to slay. My 
sword seemed to leap in my hand ; and when I came 
out of the mist, there lay the base brute dead, his head 
split open, the bloody sword still in my hand, and the 
maid in a dead faint beside me. Then all seemed to 
come back to my mind, and with it a new sense, that 
I was a lad no longer, with a boy’s far-off fears now 
dead and gone, but was now a man with a man’s strength ; 

8 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


114 

and a lover, for had I not slain my first foeman, and 
that to save her whose safety seemed to be the one 
thing in the world to five for. Sheathing my sword 
with a fierce joy, I lifted her in mine arms and bore 
her forth, deathlike as she was, with a dread fear in my 
heart that her eyes would never open again. With her 
in my arms I strode down those dread stairs, past 
those dead men and all that rack and ruin of midnight 
battle, with the river of life in my soul, and after some 
missing of my way and stumbling came to where the 
man was who kept my horse. Soon I was riding 
through the murky night with that loved burden 
toward Girnigoe Castle. There dismounting at its 
gates, I bore her in, and laid her, still in her faint, 
with much reverence at the feet of the lady countess. 


CHAPTER X 

T HE assault of the hold and the murder of the 

Bishop of the Cattynes resulted in much ill to 

many at Castle Girnigoe. Of the lord earl, men said 

the doom of his house began at that time ; and in 

truth the worst that hath come to us since took its 

rise from that deed. Some considered the earl not 

to be in his right wits afterward. How true this may 

be, I, who am not over-superstitious, have thought that 

the over-indulgence of a mastering passion of revenge 

or hate may produce a madness in the mind, and certain 

it is some such fate overtook my misguided father. 

The castle people, however, charged his illness to the 

dread curse that the bishop had laid on him ere he 

died, for it was told me afterward how that singular 

man made his end. It seemed that, taken sudden in 

his self-confidence, he retreated to his dining-hall, 

his faithful men-at-arms defending the entrance thereof 

unto their death. Then my father entering, sword 

in hand, and a look of relentless hate on his face, the 

trapped bishop first pleaded for his life, then seeing 

that he spoke to no account, drew himself up, stood 

on his churchly authority, and, cursing the earl and 
116 


ii6 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


all his with curses such as only Churchmen can coin 
and use, met his death like a man. But a worse ill 
came to my father in the horror of his deed that went 
throughout the north, alienating from him many who 
formerly were his allies in common cause against the 
encroachments of the Church, but who now regarded 
his act as one of direct sacrilege too great to be condoned. 

The greater danger and menace to the earl was to 
come, however, from the grim hate of his cousin Albany, 
whose agent and friend the bishop was ; and had it 
not been that this prince’s policy was rather to lie in 
wait for his enemy, he would instantly have brought 
an army into the north and have burnt my father out 
of his hold, so greatly was he incensed when he heard 
of the bishop’s death. There was, however, much 
other care and sorrow in the fated walls of Girnigoe 
as the result of that evil sortie, the effects of which 
were felt during the week following, and to some many 
a day after. For there were some dead, and many of 
our men wounded, among the latter being Hugh, who 
in his impetuous spirit, having not a little of the earl’s 
character, which became from this out more apparent, 
would be at the head and thick of the attack, where 
older and stouter men than he went down. Being 
also eager to rescue her, whom by a strange fate it 
came to be mine, the laggard’s, lot to have to serve, 
he was hewn down by a sword-stroke and buried under 
a heap of dead and wounded. Being found afterward, 
he was brought to the castle a little later than I had 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


ii 7 

reached there with the lady of his romantic quest. 
That he was not mortally wounded was owing to his 
having been buried under the others, and to the sword 
having missed its sure stroke ; so, with his youth and 
vigour, it was not long ere he was up and about, as 
reckless and impetuous as ever. 

The condition of her, however, who was to make 
that castle for ever after a happier place for me was my 
chief thought. But beyond the terrible ordeal, such 
as many a lady of quality in our times hath been fated 
to undergo, she was without scathe, and grew in time 
to forget the horror. 

I will keep to the day of my death the memory of 
that night’s ride, with her in mine arms, along the 
murk of the sea-beach to the castle of Girnigoe. How 
I was given strength to do what I did that night is 
not for me to understand, save that some souls ordinarily 
weak have their supreme moments, when the spirit 
so conquers the flesh that the will is all-masterful. It 
seemed to me as if I saw naught but that sweet pale 
face, which might never put on life again. Thus in 
this elated dream of action I bore her into the castle 
hall, where the lady countess stood, with one thought 
in the world, her son Hugh. 

“ Hugh, is it thou ? Thank Heaven ! ” she cried, 
and this cold, haughty woman started forward in 
mother gladness, for she thought it was her son. We 
were alike, and in this new mood of mine we were 
perchance more so in her eyes, and she was deceived. 


n8 IAN OF THE ORCADES 

“ Nay,” cried I, “ it is I.” 

“ Thou ! only thou ! and where is my son, my 
Hugh ? ” she cried with a bitter cry. But I laid the 
lady at her feet, and said, “ Madam, quick, save this 
lady ere she be dead ! ” But she only turned on me 
in hate and scorn. 

“ Thou ! only thou ! ” she cried. “ Thou traitor ! 
thou hast brought the lady, and my son is dead ! ” 

“ Madam ! ” I cried, for her selfish mother-love 
jarred on me, while the young girl lay there so cold, in 
what might be death, “ hast thou no feeling ? See, 
she is senseless. Canst thou not pity her, the victim 
of all this horror ? They murdered the bishop before 
her eyes ! ” 

“ How now ! ” she cried. “ The bishop dead ? Oh, 
my husband ! Oh, dread Heaven ! Then Hugh also 
is dead ! ’Tis the curse ! ” Then she turned on me. 
“ And thou ? Didst thou dare live ? ” And so 
great was her anger I thought she would have struck 
me ; but I forgot her rank, and cried sternly, “ Thy 
son is not dead, madam ; quick, thy women ! or this 

girl will be ” and I knelt at the maid’s side, but 

the lady countess put me away. “ Begone ! ” she 
cried, “ thou art not worthy, thou supplanter, thou 
Jacob ! — dost thou think she is for such as thee ? ” 

“ Madam,” I answered, “ I have but saved her life, 
and thou wilt lose it again.” 

“ She hath no ill,” she answered ; “ ’tis but a swoon ; 
see, she cometh to now ; but my son, oh ! my son ! ” 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


119 

At this the Lady Margaret began to revive, and 
opened her eyes, to my happiness and pleasure to 
see those lights of my heaven appear again. But 
they wandered in sad amaze, and she moaned piteously. 
Then she tried to gather herself together and to stand 
up. 

“ Where am I ? ” she cried. Then she remembered, 
and looked at me and at the lady countess. Then 
she said, “ Sir, thou didst save my life.” 

“ Lady ! ” I cried, “ this is the Countess of the 
Cattynes. Then she turned to the lady countess, 
and said, “ Oh, madam, wilt thou protect me ? ” 

“ Thou need’st no protection in Castle Girnigoe,” 
cried the lady countess ; “ thou art safe here. My 
lord and my son make no war on women.” 

“Yea,” answered the Lady Margaret, “ this thy 
son did save me,” and she put her hands to her face, 
as though to hide the remembrance of what she had 
seen. Then the lady countess showed her hate and 
scorn of me. 

“ This is no son of mine,” she cried, “ but a vassal. 
Did he save thee, lady, he did but what his mean life 
was made for, as servant to this house.” 

“Not thy son ? Not thy son ? ” cried the Lady 
Margaret. Then she looked at me in amazement. 
But she read in my face what checked her further 
speech, and she turned to the countess, and said, 
“ Madam, I am ill.” 

“ Quick ! ” cried the countess to her women, “ wine ! 


120 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


The lady is indisposed.” And the wine was brought. 
Then I knew that I was not wanted there, and turned 
sadly and reluctantly to go. 

“ Sir ! ” cried the young lady, “ let me thank you.” 
Just then a man-at-arms entered. 

“ My lady countess ! ” he cried, “ God save you — 
here cometh the Lord Hugh, who hath been grievously 
wounded ! ” 

“ My son ! Great Heaven ! ” cried the lady 
countess. “ ’Tis the judgment of Heaven ! ” Then 
she turned to the young girl and cried fiercely, “ And 
’tis for thee, for thee, he hath suffered this ! I could 
hate thee for this ! ” 

“ Madam,” cried the girl, “ I am innocent in this 
matter ! ” 

“ Nay, but thou art cause of all,” cried the lady 
countess; “’tis for thee that all this great sin was 
committed ; for thee that the good lord bishop lieth 
dead, and that my son is all but dead.” 

But the poor girl only moaned, “ I am innocent ! 
I am innocent ! ” Whereat I could not see her suffer, 
and I cried, “ My lady, this is not so ! I know some- 
what of this matter. ’Twas an old hate betwixt the 
lord bishop and the earl which hath caused all this, 
not yon innocent girl.” 

But the lady countess turned on me in contempt. 
“ Thou ! thou ! ” she cried. “ What dost thou here 
without my bidding ? When I send for thee, then 
mayest thou come. Thy duty was but to serve my 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


121 


son ; and whilst thou wert about thine own affairs 
he hath come by this hurt ! ” The young girl turned 
from her to me in mute wonder ; and, as I thought, 
with a sort of scorn in her eyes that I could not brook. 
“ She seeth my shame,” I cried to myself, and had it 
been a man who had brought this dishonour on me in 
her presence, and not the lady countess, I had an- 
swered ; but she was a lady, and I felt in my heart that 
for many reasons I had no right there now that my 
work was done. So I hung my head, and in shame 
and sorrow took my departure. I know not how I 
got to the door. The whole world seemed to gloom 
down on me, but I felt my way to the lintel. Then it 
was that my overmatched strength found its end ; 
for it had been a part of mine exaltation which had 
given me power to slay that man and to save her, 
and when that and my hope went out, my strength 
was gone also. I got me out of the doorway, and just 
as I felt I had lost her for ever I came face to face with 
mine uncle Angus. 

“ Well, my mighty fool-slayer and saver of maidens ! ” 
he cried in his sardonic manner. Then the castle 
spun round and all was dark. 


CHAPTER XI 


TT was many hours before I was myself again, 
but youth outlives the greatest ills that attack 
body and soul, when time is young and the roads of 
life ahead. Though I awoke to remembrance of the 
lady countess’s scorn and insult, and to the fact that 
a great gulf of station and power lay betwixt the King’s 
ward and a poor outcast youth of no wealth and of 
but doubtful origin, yet I could not but dream of her 
whom I had been fated to save from ill scathe and 
perchance death, and whose presence now stayed 
with me sleeping or waking. Thus it was that I, Ian, 
the outcast, scorned and ill-treated, arose from my 
bed with a new lease of life, and, it must be admitted, 
with but vague dreams of the future. For I was a 
fool, as the young ever are, and would not look the 
hard fact of the hopelessness of my love in the face. 
I was soon, however, to be disenchanted, and brought to 
a true sense of the world of distance that separated my 
existence and hers. The one to do this was the man I 
feared and hated more than ever, now that I had foiled 
his ill schemes, and had dared force his hand at a 

time when he could ill brook to relinquish his vengeance. 

122 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


123 


He read me like a book in this my love-dream ; for 
though I had not spoken to him since, yet my act 
of saving the Lady Margaret, and how I had ridden 
through the night with her and brought her half dead 
to the lady countess, were the talk of the castle. She 
herself had also told of how I had slain the serving- 
man, she not knowing who he was, except that he was 
a great brutal man and one to be feared. Now this 
man had been an important person in his place about 
the castle, though not having many friends on account 
of his overbearing manners. But when a man is dead, 
folk often forget his ill-deeds and remember his virtues, 
or, what is the same thing, imagine some for him, often 
canonising a veritable scamp into some sort of remem- 
brance and even veneration. So it was with this 
fellow, and though I was more respected for my physical 
prowess in sending him to his account, yet there were 
some, and they had their sympathisers, who muttered 
at my act, seeing that it was known that I had not 
gone wilfully into the attack upon their foes, but had 
had the temerity to slay one of their own comrades. 
To this was added a sort of disagreeable surprise that 
one who had shown so little liking for the practice of 
arms should exhibit such proficiency as to overpower 
one of the greatest braggarts in the earl’s train. All 
this caused me to be avoided even more than of old ; 
yet there were not wanting some who were my friends, 
both through pity for my position, which was known 
under the rose, as it were, to be a false and unjust one ; 


124 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


and also because of mine act of daring and humanity 
in saving the young lady and ridding the castle of a 
brute who was a good riddance. 

Among these latter was the castle armourer, a bluff, 
hearty man of a good presence and an honest, open 
nature. He came of a race of armourers and smiths, 
and loved his craft, as one should who values the making 
of a fine blade and a solid shield to withstand it. Now 
it had been my habit often when lonely to go into his 
smithy, a sort of cell in a lower corner of the castle, and 
to watch him as he worked at his forge, wielding with 
one arm his massive hammer, which he used so dexter- 
ously as to temper the keenest edge of a blade, and 
yet with the same to strike a blow that would have 
felled an ox. At times he would teach me some of 
the secrets of the skill of his craft, and I even came 
to handle the hammer and to work with his tools in a 
small way myself. The sword with which I had slain 
the armsman had been fashioned for me by the good 
smith himself, and he was proud to think that I had 
made such good use of it, and had been so apt a pupil. 
For he was in addition somewhat of a swordsman, 
skilled in the use of weapons, especially the broad- 
sword or claymore, used with the two hands, and he had 
had much doubt as to my power ever to become very 
proficient in the art of war. 

Thus were the castle people divided into two factions, 
for and against me, of whom the greater part were 
against, as the lady countess’s strong dislike for me 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


125 


was well known, and acted in my disfavour with the 
most of them, as it ever doth where underlings love 
or hate, praise or dispraise, as their superiors show 
the example. 

Now mine uncle, like the deep spirit he was, saw 
all this at a glance, and used it against me to my face 
and behind my back, not by any word he said, for he 
was a silent man, but he had a way more certain and 
powerful than words by which to convey his meaning, 
or extract knowledge through those channels which his 
ghostly character gave him. Therefore, though he 
had had no intercourse with me, yet he was as well 
aware of my feelings toward the Lady Margaret, and 
as deeply cognisant of my unhappy position, as I was 
myself. 

It was on the day after that he paid me a visit in 
my room, where I was musing betwixt a half-dream 
of fancied hope and a despair of mine unmended 
fortunes. I would rather have had his room than his 
company, and I was not slow to let him see that I was 
of this mind, for in the mood in which I then was, 
mine own thoughts, or rather fancies, were my most 
welcome counsellors, and I dreaded that this cold, 
ill-thinking man should probe my secret and make 
sport in his polished cynic manner of what I felt so 
deeply. So I said naught, and waited with some cold 
impatience for him to explain his reason for intrusion, 
which he must know would be most unwelcome. 

But, as I have shown, he was not one to stop at 


126 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


trifles, or to waver for scruples of pride where his 
schemes led him, so he took but scant notice of my 
lack of warmth, and treated me as one would a spoilt 
child. 

“ Well, my martial hero, and rescuer of maidens,” 
he said. “ ’Tis a good and meet beginning thou hast 
made for a future son of Holy Church ! ” Now I liked 
not this, his taking for granted, what he knew I dis- 
owned and hated, namely, that I was set apart for 
Orders. 

“ I am no Churchman, as thou well knowest,” I 
answered in sullen manner. 

“ And is it thus that thou rewardest my faithful 
clerkship, thou runagate ! ” he said. “ I will yet show 
thee thy proper path as thy best friend.” 

But I was determined to have done with this dream 
of his for ever, and to show him the folly of his hope, 
so I said roughly — 

“ I would have thee know that thou art either mad 
or worse, to think that I am inclined for Orders. I 
have neither love nor ambition toward that vocation 
which thou fillest so bravely,” I said scornfully. 

“ Boy,” he answered, with that quiet, maddening smile 
of his, “ ’tis thine only path in life. Thou must walk 
it, will or nil ! ” 

“ Thou liest ! ” I cried in petulance. “ There be 
other paths in life.” 

“ Yes,” he answered, “ there are others, such as 
armourer’s apprentice men, or as follower of such as 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


12 7 


thou slewest ; but thy pride will not take them.” And 
he looked at me as a spider might look at a poor foolish 
fly, buzzing on the edge of its web. 

“ Thou devil ! ” I cried. “ Why dost thou come 
with dark counsel and ill-looks to haunt me with thy 
sneers and pretended pity, when I know thee so well. 
Could I not open up thy deviltry to the whole castle, 
even to my lord earl, and ruin thee for ever ? 

“Yea,” thou couldst, he answered, “ even to my 
lord earl, thy loving father ! ” and he sneered as he 
said it. “ But thou wilt not. I know thee too well 
for to fear thee,” and he laughed in my face, that light 
easy laugh of one who is master. “ For,” he continued, 
“ with all thy hate of me, and of my schemes, thou 
lovest thine uncle just enough, and thy house a little 
more, so as to keep thy tongue quiet in thy head.” 

“ Then why dost thou not leave me to myself ? ” I 
cried, for I had other thoughts and wearied of his presence. 

For a moment he went dark in the face, and was 
near to losing his wonted composure ; for his pride 
was greater than even mine own, but he conquered 
himself and said sternly, “ Thou fool, for fool thou 
art, know that I, even thine ill uncle, hath a certain 
love for thee ; and that thou hast some grain of talent 
which might make thee worthy of that greatness which 
I have in store for thee.” 

“ And what might that be ? ” I questioned, just to 
sound him. 

“Even as a prince of the Church, thou ingrate,” 


128 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


he answered, and I saw that it was a sincere dream he 
had. But I had no mind for his ambitions, and I 
answered, “ Sir priest, I have neither the gift nor 
the spirit for so lofty a place. But why, if thou lovest 
such things, dost thou not, who art fit even as I could 
never be, aspire to such a position thyself. There is 
this same bishopric of the Cattynes even now vacant. 
Wert thou not the chosen friend and confidant, as I 
well know, of that present martyr and late prince of 
the Church who hath departed ? and why dost thou 
not, if thou hast such power to set a poor lad as I am 
in such place, set thyself there, who art the more 
worthy to fill it ? ” Now this was a long speech, but 
I fancied though he hearkened to me with patience 
that I had hit him in a sore part of his pride or secret 
ambition, and I also noticed that he found it hard to 
give me a fair reply. 

“ ’Tis a difficult matter,” he said, with more of hesi- 
tation than he had yet used. 

“ And why ? ” I asked. 

“ There are other considerations,” he replied, with 
his eyes down. 

“ And may I ask,” I cried, looking him hard in the 
face, “ what be those remarkable considerations which 
make it so fit for a poor youth such as I am to fill a 
great position for which thou art not available ? ” 

“ I may not answer thee in the matter, thou couldst 
not understand,” he said. 

“ Nay,” I cried, “ thou wouldst treat me as a 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


129 


child, with thy cunning contriving Church ways. Thou 
wouldst fain father me for ever. Now I tell thee 
straight, I have no love for thy schemes such as they 
are, and less love for Mother Church’s preferments. 
I would have thee understand that I am no more a 
boy, but a man, with a man’s love of freedom, and a 
desire to carve mine own way in the world. So hence- 
forth I would have thee know.” 

“ And that thou scornest my counsel and friendship ? ” 
he returned fiercely. 

“ Yea, if you will,” I cried. 

I now thought he would even have offered me violence 
had he dared, for the man had no limit to his passions, 
but to my amazement he sat down at the foot of my 
couch and calmly spoke, marking his heads of debate 
on his fingers in mock importance, as if deriding me. 

“ And this young springald,” he said, “ hath out- 
grown his pen-feathers. Being tutored by his poor 
faithful uncle for the vocation of Orders, he hath become 
proficient as a clerk. But having invaded a monastery 
at the murdering of a bishop, he hath slain a man, 
and rescued a maiden, which matters have done more 
to hasten his manhood than all mine ill-training could. 
Have I not been his one friend in this castle ? Have 
I not nursed him, tutored him, and all for naught ? 
’Tis a world of ingratitude, where fools forget their 
benefits.” 

“ Sir priest,” I cried at this, “ have you ended this 
mummery ? I would be alone.” 

9 


130 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


“ How now ! ” he cried. “ You ! you ! to me ! Nay, 
I have not done, thou fool ! I have just begun.” And 
he stood up and paced the floor. “ Thou hast scorned 
me, thine only friend in this cursed castle, who brought 
thee here, stood thine insults, tutored thee, saved thy 
life, and thou scornest my aid to the one preferment 
thou canst gain in this world. Thou ! without position 
or name. Thou dost this, and why ? Because thou art 
a fool, and hast caught sight of a fair face of a young 
girl, who is naught to thee, and can never be ; and also 
hast had the misfortune to have committed sin by 
taking a life.” 

“ Enough ! ” I cried. “ Thou hast said enough, 
by Heaven ! ” and I faced him. 

“ Is it not true ? ” he asked, with his cold, cynical 
glance, and I was so surprised at his reading my secret 
that I could not answer him for the moment. “ Yea,” 
he proceeded, “ and more, thou fool, have not thy 
fond dreams taught thee that thy love for this girl 
is impossible ? ” 

“ And why impossible ? ” I cried. 

“ Dost thou not know who this girl is,” he answered 
in scorn, “ whom thou hast cast sheep’s eyes upon ? ” 

“ The King’s ward,” I answered quickly. 

He turned on me like a flash. “ Who told thee 
that ? ” he said sharply. 

“ It matters not, ’tis enough I know it.” 

“ Ha, ha ! ” he sneered in his scornful way, “ but 
it is a keen cockerel after all, and a right ambitious 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 131 

one, indeed. And might I ask thee, thou great unknown, 
how thou art to accomplish this brave alliance ? ” 

“ I have not considered it,” I answered in defiance. 

“Nay, thou hast not considered’ it,” he answered. 
“ Perchance I have for the first time put it into bold 
thought for thee. But thou hast looked on her, held 
her, dreamed of her; perchance’ even kissed her fair 
lips.” 

“ Thou devil ! ” I cried, “ I will kill thee ! ” for 
the man’s brutality overmastered me for the time. 

“ Nay, nay, I ask pardon,” he returned. “ I forgot 
that thou art monkish enough to stay at that; but 
thy dreams have carried thee further. Thou hast 
been fool enough to allow thyself to worship and to 
get thy heart entangled by a bit of fair soft flesh, 
sweet eyes, and glistening hair, which is as far out of 
thy reach as the sun at noonday.” 

“ Art thou done, thou croaker ? ” I cried, hating 
him the more for the truth he had told me, for I knew 
that he delighted in this destroying of a sweet hope 
in a human soul, as men say Satan loves to kill hope 
and purity in the spirit of a man. 

“ Nay, not until I have cured thee,” he answered. 
“ ’Tis a bitter medicine, and thou hast but tasted 
it yet, but for all thy fierceness thou wilt thank me 
afterward.” 

“ Never ! ” I cried. But he, as though I had not 
spoken, continued — 

“ Hearken, thou proud fool, and I will show thee 


132 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


what thou art, and what thou hast done : first, when, 
as thou knowest, I had dreams for the vengeance of 
Heaven on the ill-doer, and for thy high advancement, 
thou didst spoil my work and foil mine undertaking- 
Further, thou hast slain a man of this castle, and made 
thyself a foe of many of the in-dwellers, so that it will 
take all mine energies of thought and speech to keep 
thee here with a whole skin. Next, thou hast saved a 
maiden’s life, and betwixt us two it were better that 
the man-at-arms had had her, for all thou wilt have 
of her, or of her wealth and state, or fairness of person. 
For what is the end of all the great toil but to give 
power and happiness to the earl thy father, yon proud 
countess, and chiefly thy brother Hugh.” 

“ My brother Hugh ! ” I said. “ What meanest 
thou ? ” 

“Dost thou not know ? Art thou so blind to all 
about thee that thou dost not see that the proud 
countess hath as well as wedded this caged beauty to 
thy brother, who, as all know, is deeply enamoured of 
her already.” 

“ Thou best ! ” I cried when I heard this ; but I 
said it more in anger and despair than with any con- 
viction, for both he and I knew that it was all too 
true. 

“ Now see what thou hast done,” he continued. 
‘‘ Instead of avenging thy wrongs on this house, as 
became thy proper spirit, thou hast balked my vengeance 
and thine, and hath fool-like risked thine own life and 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


133 

made bitter foes, to give her, whom thou must love in 
vain, into the arms of thy brother Hugh.” 

When he said this last I felt as if all life were leaving 
me. What if it were true, and what evidence had I 
to disprove his words ? For, to tell the truth, he*had 
never, so far as I knew, told me a direct he, though he 
had fooled both me and himself by bundles of half- 
truths. 

“ Art thou sure of this ? ” I cried ; “ as thou hopest 
to live and die, tell me true.” 

“ So sure is it as that thou livest and lovest beyond 
thee,” he answered. “ Think no more of her. She 
is as good as wedded to thy brother, whom thou lovest 
so well. Would Heaven he had so well requited thee.” 

“ What meanest thou ? ” I said. “ What of my 
brother ? ” For in spite of all I loved him, even though 
he was somewhat careless of my presence or absence, 
but this was because of his up-bringing, to be more 
thoughtless than I ; for a more true, knightly, and 
single-hearted spirit than my brother never lived. 

“ Thou canst not make me hate him,” I cried, “ even 
though this last and worst cometh betwixt us.” Yet 
I felt as I spoke that all henceforth could not be the 
same betwixt us if this were true, for the great tragedy 
of nature worketh wrath in the hearts of men for ever. 

“ Thou wilt yet see,” he cried, “I am thine only 
friend. Who else careth for thee that thou be alive 
or dead ? But take mine advice in this matter. Have 
no more thought of this girl, she is thy brother’s who 


134 IAN OF THE ORCADES 

hath sucked all the honey and sunlight of this ill 
world.” 

“ Leave me!” I cried. “ Leave me ! thou hast 
spoken true ! I am a fool,” I almost sobbed, “ I can 
stand no more ! ” 

“ Think on the Church, my son ! ” he said as he 
went out. “ ’Tis thy one hope and haven, as it was 
for me.” 

I waited until he was gone, and then down on my 
knees by my couch I prayed Heaven to help me bear 
this great passion, to forget this sweet dream that had 
filled my heart, also that I might not grow like this 
dread priest, into a veritable Cain, and come to hate 
my brother. 


CHAPTER XII 


/TINE was but poor comfort in the days that followed. 

All my past interest in life seemed to have left 
me, and I cared only to ponder on my position, and 
anon to obtain a secret glimpse of her who had laid 
this glamour on my soul. 

There was much care and bustle in the castle for 
some days. Our dead had to be buried, and our 
wounded cared for, so that few had time for thought. 
There was, however, much anxiety to know what the 
result would be at Court, where the fierce Albany would 
be sure to take revenge upon us in behalf of his dead 
ally and friend. 

There also went a rumour through the castle that 
the earl was mad. He took it into his head at times 
that the bishop was with him, and he would leap from 
bed or table, and cry, “ See to it that he is dead ! 
There he lies ! ” and such similar words, which made 
the castle folk quake, and fear that the bishop’s spirit 
walked to punish his murderer. All of this, together 
with the dread of Albany, gave the lady countess much 
grief and anxiety, so that she rarely left her chapel, 
where she spent her time fasting and praying, seeking 

135 


136 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


forgiveness for her lord’s sins. Here was I also some- 
times led by another feeling than that of religion, 
though I must say that this love for a girl in a young 
man’s heart savoureth much of religion itself. But did 
I have hopes of catching a glimpse of that fair face, 
it was but a vain fancy, and I was punished for my 
pagan thoughts, for I never got a sight of her, save 
at a distance, when she came or went, veiled in deep 
mourning for the dead bishop. During this time I 
was left much to myself, being as it were forgotten. 
Even the priest, since our late interview, seemed to 
shun me, as though he thought that if left to myself, 
and suffered to see the madness of my dreams, I would 
come by degrees into his way of thinking. But love 
hath a thousand ways of beguiling its victim, even to 
the getting of a sort of sad pleasure out of its misery. 
I would sit in my room, shut in by my grim lonely 
walls, and live over and over within myself those moments 
of that night which I would never forget, and build 
my heart up with the thought that I had been the one 
to save her. And I would wonder if at times she 
might think of me, or even in her dreams remember 
her preserver. Then would come the memory of the 
priest’s cruel words, I would recall the scorn on her 
fair face, and my despair would conquer all else. 

There was one place on a parapet of the castle wall 
where the watchmen were wont to keep guard, and 
where it had been my habit to go when I desired to 
be alone, taking with me a black-letter book when 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


I 37 


the days were fine. Here I would now crawl up and 
watch for a chance sight of her, and not many days 
after I had been there I heard a sound of trumpets, 
saw the warder let down the bridge, and soon there 
appeared my brother Hugh gaily caparisoned, and by 
his side, riding on a palfrey, a figure which, though 
veiled, I knew to be hers. Thereafter they would ride 
out, day after day, followed by an armed escort. I 
saw that this was a purpose of the countess to throw 
them much together, and thus bring about her 
desire. 

This went on for some days, until it made me sick 
with envy, for I could see, from where I crouched, 
that Hugh with his gallant form, fair face, and im- 
petuous spirit of youth and gaiety, was one well suited 
to a girl’s fancy ; and every look of his and glance of 
hers went as a dagger to my heart. At times I would 
wonder that she never inquired for me, and it seemed 
strange also that Hugh did not notice my absence, or 
come to see me, and I soon began to fear that the 
seed of that hatred, which the priest so desired, was 
planting itself in my heart. But an event soon 

occurred which shamed me of such ill dreams. One 

bright morning Hugh burst into my room, in a manner 
more like his old self. 

“ Ian, thou morose dog,” he said in his light way, 

“ thou must come out of thy cell, or we will think 

that thou hast a plot to turn the castle into a monk’s 
hold. The sweetest lady in the world hath asked 


138 IAN OF THE ORCADES 

after her preserver, and wonders why he so shutteth 
himself up.” 

“ And she hath asked after me?” I cried, but I had 
to hide mine agitation, and the words came out in so 
constrained a manner, that he, in his impetuous feeling, 
deemed me an indifferent bookworm. 

“Yea, she hath, thou mole ! ” he answered. “ And 
proud thou shouldst be of such a condescension on 
the part of this fair princess ; and, Ian,” he added, coming 
closer, “ I am but a sad fellow myself, and an ungrateful 
hound, not to have before this thanked thee for thy 
brave deed in rescuing her.” And he held out his 
hand as though to take mine. I saw that this was 
but more proof of his open, kind nature, and yet if all 
life had been at stake I could not but have felt angry 
at his seeming patronage of mine act, as though he 
were already her owner and I but a dutiful vassal. 

I gave him my hand though but coldly. “ It were 
naught,” I managed to say, “it is but. what thou 
wouldst have done thyself,” but I said it in no kindly 
spirit. 

“ Yea,” he answered, “ thou art but a spiritless 
fellow, who doth not value thy good fortune. If it 
were in me to envy thee, I would almost do so, that 
thou hadst the chance to save her as thou didst. Who 
would have thought it in thee ? ” 

“ Thou hast no reason to envy anyone,” I answered 
with some bitterness ; whereat he gave me a wondering 
look for a moment, then he said, “ Come, sir monk, 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


139 

the lady hath sent for thee, we must not keep her 
waiting.” 

“ And what may she want with me? ” I asked 
sullenly. 

“ Want ? ” he answered, “ my sad brother, ’tis 
fact enough that she calls for thee. No more is needed. 
Thou must come ! ” 

But what could he dream of my feelings ? I would 
have given worlds to see her face again, to hear her 
speak, to touch her hand, yet I feared to meet this 
girl, so much to me yet so far out of my reach, and 
belonging, as I bitterly thought, to this youth, my 
father’s son. 

“ I will go,” I said shortly, with a rapidly beating 
heart, and I followed him out. 

i We found her upon the castle wall, attired in her 
riding garments, waiting for her palfrey. And I who 
have since seen many a beautiful and high-born woman, 
have never seen so fair a picture as she made there 
that afternoon, as she stood waiting for us, gauntlet 
in hand, by the castle wall. I could not keep my eyes 
off her, as if I were a blind man recovered and for the 
first time feasting on God’s sunlight, for such did she 
seem to me. 

“ Fair lady,” said Hugh, “ this is thy monkish de- 
fender, and he little deserveth thy regard, though he 
so nobly hath earned it. Had it been I who had so 
earned thy favour, thou wouldst not have had to fetch 
me ! ” and he bent, in his high and gallant way, on 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


140 

* 

one knee and but touched her hand with his lips, while 
I seemed to see the sun as it were a drop of blood. 

“ I doubt it not, my lord,” I heard her answer him, 
“ so now to keep my favour, see you that they keep 
me not long in waiting for my palfrey ; ” and the mist 
now being gone from my sight, I saw that she gave 
him a sweet smile, and dismissed him as a princess would 
her courtier. Then we two were alone, and she turned 
to me, and I thought I caught a look of pity on her 
face as she offered me her hand in a proud and distant 
manner. I affected not to see it, and only bowed 
low, for I could not trust myself to touch it, and said, 
“ My lady, my brother said that thou hadst sent for 
me.” 

“ Thy brother ? ” she said, in some wonderment, 
looking me fuff in the face for a moment. 

“ Yea, my lady,” I answered in the same cold tones, 
but it seemed that my intense regard embarrassed 
her, for her eyes went down and she drew back. 

“ Sir,” she said, “ I owe thee more than I can ever 
repay, for thou hast done that for me few men would 
have done ; and I would in some sort give thee token 
of my regard for thy deed ; ” then she paused, waiting 
for my answer, but her words smote on my pride. 
What cared I for reward ? Not all the wealth of the 
world could give me compensation when she herself 
was out of my reach. But I had to answer her and 
check my fiercely beating heart. 

“ Lady,” I said sternly, “ I require no reward.” 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 141 

“ Yea,” she answered, “ thou art, I am told, wedded 
to Holy Church, and a scorner of women and women’s 
rewards ; ” but she added, with I thought some touch 
of raillery in her voice, “ thou seemest, however, over- 
great a swordsman for the vocation of a priest.” 

“ Nay,” I cried, “ there are those, my lady, who 
have no choice in this sad world, but are doomed to a 
certain life from their birth. Such am I.” 

“ Forgive me, sir, if I speak plain,” she answered, 
“ but I see that thy life here is not of the happiest. 
Perchance you love solitude, but if you desire preference 
or means, Margaret Seton hath much which she needs 
not. Speak, and it is yours.” 

“ Lady,” I said sternly, “ I require not riches nor 
place. I am beyond thine aid.” 

“ Sir,” she answered, “ I meant it but in kindness.” 

“ Yea,” I cried bitterly, “ and thou thinkest that 
thou canst pay me like any hireling for what I have 
done.” 

“ Sir,” she said, “ I see that my thanks are but 
ill valued,” and she turned to go. 

“ Stop, lady ! ” I cried, “ I meant not to repel thy 
thanks, but I will have no other reward save thy kind 
words, which are more to me than all thy riches and 
power.” 

“ Thou hast pride,” she answered. “ I had not thought 
this of you.” 

“ ’Tis all I have left, if thou wilt pardon me,” I 
answered. 


142 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


“ I had but thought to aid you,” she returned, “ but 
it seemeth I may not. Wilt thou not at least take 
Margaret Seton’s gratitude for what thou hast done ? ” 
and she again held out her shapely hand. 

“ You are far beyond me, madam,” I answered, 
not seeming to see it. “I am outside thy world,” 
and I again bowed low. She started at this, and then 
drew up as if offended at my audacity, and said, “ Well, 
sir, let it be ! I have been mistaken,” and she turned 
from me and leaned over the parapet. It was my 
dismissal, and I knew that I deserved it, for my pride 
had been but a poor answer to her kindness. Yet I 
had to fight for myself and my brother ; and in my 
poor place what else could I do ? I should have left 
her then, but I stood there rooted to the spot like one 
with no sense of will. I noticed every turn of her 
figure, the curve of her neck, her fair head with its 
high-born carriage and delicate beauty ; and I yearned 
for the power or the freedom to kneel at her side, as 
Hugh had done, and kiss her shapely hand. But I 
had no right to do this, mine honour told me, and my 
pride would have that or naught else in the world. 
There I stood, fool that I was, like some clown biting 
my nails ; when she turned her about, and in a proud 
voice said, “ Sir Churchman, wouldst thou find for 
me what delay eth this gay squire of mine ? ” Then 
with a start and a blush I bowed low and left her. But 
I noted that for all her hauteur there was, as she 
faced me, a trace as of tears in her eyes. 


CHAPTER XIII 


TT was soon an assured fact throughout the castle 
that my brother Hugh was about to be betrothed 
to the Lady Margaret Seton ; and the lady countess, 
though she redoubled her prayers and penances, went 
with her proud head even a bit higher. Every day, 
as^I saw from my solitary place, my brother and the 
Lady Margaret rode out together ; and from her actions 
I fancied that the lady herself seemed to have forgot 
her trouble, and to have taken on somewhat of gaiety, 
though it was with but a modest and subdued air, 
for she neither perked nor made much of herself, as is 
sometimes the manner and mood of some of her sex, 
but was ever quiet and pensive in soul, and even when 
she had served me out, as my harsh pride deserved, 
had done it as an angel would, and far beyond my 
deserts. I grew to know every look of her face and 
turn of her form, and remembered each sound of her 
voice, and in safety too, for they never so much as 
looked up or turned my way. For why should youth, 
pride, beauty and high station pause to think of such 
as I ? It soon came to my mind, however, that I 
was a great fool to go on thus, and it were better for 

143 


I 44 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


me to leave this castle, where only shame and misery 
were my part, and where I was barely tolerated as 
one whose presence was but a penance to others. I 
began to think me of the wide world, and of my chances 
if I went to the wars, or found my way to the great 
Court at Stirling. In this mood I would go below 
to my friend the armourer, who would, if busy, 
let me aid him in his toil, or if not too busy would 
tell me old tales of my house, or of other great houses, 
of brave soldiers of our people from the great Bruce 
down ; tales that se ( t my blood a-tingling, and boded 
but ill for the hopes of mine uncle Angu3. At other 
times his tales would turn on legends of the castle, 
and I would try to question him, among other matters, 
as to the history of the old dungeon I had discovered, 
where I had seen the sad remains of some dead prisoner, 
but he always seemed to avoid this subject, nor could 
he be brought to speak of my father. 

“ The deeds of the lord are the lord’s,” he would 
say, “ and the power his. We are here to clo his bidding, 
and not to talk him down. He hath power to sear eye 
and slit tongue, be they false or free, and it behoves 
us to carry us according.” 

One day, however, when there was a lull in our 
speech and labour, I was astonished to hear a groan, 
as of one in pain, under the floor of the smithy where 
we were working. I started at the time, but he acted 
as if not to have heard it, but when it was repeated 
somewhat louder some time after, I said, “Master 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


*45 


smith, what meaneth that noise, as of one in pain, 
which seemeth to come from the stones where we 
stand ? ” “ ’Tis the prisoner,” he answered, as if it 

were but a common matter for human misery to find 
a voice in the pavement whereon he trod. 

“ The prisoner ! ” I cried, and he saw that my wonder 
would not thus be satisfied, so he sat down, and said, 
“ Sir clerk, thou canst not but know that in great 
castles like this there must be such places. Great 
lords have enemies, and enemies do ill deeds. Those 
deeds must have their punishment, so that we have 
dungeons and cells wherein folk spend their fives, 
as is right, for their folly in fighting their betters. 
Know you that ’neath where we stand is such a dungeon, 
and in that dungeon is a prisoner, a great chief of a 
people of the west, who hath long been, he and his, 
stern foes to the earl and his house. For years he 
strove with our people, and gave them much scathe, 
let our blood, and we his. He was, and is yet, a proud 
man, of an old fine, and carried matters so that he 
would have had the advantage for ever ; but he hath 
a cousin, who is his rival, a mean man of that stripe 
who sell their kin, and this man who now rules it in 
his glen, sold his kinsman into our hands. He fieth there 
now like an old rusted sword, though scarce past his prime, 
and there he will stay till he dieth, because he scorned 
the lord of the Cattynes, and hath a liar for a kinsman.” 

“ And doth this poor soul dwell here all this while ? ” 
I asked in some sense of horror. 


146 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


“ That he doth,” he answered. “ ’Tis ten summers 
and winters, come Yule tide, since he was housed 
therein. But it seemeth me, by his manner and look 
of late, his tenantry will be but short now.” 

“ You mean that he will escape ! ” I cried. 

“ Yea,” said the armourer, testing a blade with 
his thumb, “ by that one last gate we all must go.” 

“ Thou dost not say he is dying ? ” I cried. 

“ And why not ? ” he answered. “ Death is better 
than life in such a place.” And I answered not, for 
I remembered the sight of the dungeon I had seen, 
with the skeleton in the chains. Then a thought came 
to my mind, “ Hath he never tried to escape ? ” I 
cried. 

“ Escape ! ” he answered. “ He might as well try 
to fly to heaven as to escape. Thou hast not seen 
his cell.” Then he spake more sternly, “ Thou hast 
discovered a secret, sir clerk, that few here rede of, and 
which were worth thy life and mine didst thou prate 
of it. The lord earl, yon grim priest, the hound thou 
slewest, myself and thyself, are all who have known 
of his presence since he hath come.” 

“ This be a dread matter, master smith,” I answered, 
“ and adds not to my happiness to know that so much 
misery can be so near our rising up and lying down. 
Can men’s hate go so far ? ” 

“ ’Tis a grim world,” he answered, “ and when thou 
numberest so many winters as have gone over my head, 
you will think less of such matters. I have sometime 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


Ml 

had such feelings myself that have shamed me, especially 
when I see this man and his stern unbending pride 
but I must needs do my lord’s will. He is the enemy 
of our people, and would not scruple to do likewise 
to us did he get us into his power. ’Tis our law of 
life.” 

“ But were not death preferable ? ” I said. 

“ Yea, I have thought as much myself,” he answered, 
“ but then there is the thin thread of hope while there 
is life, and he hath only of late given it up. When 
thou first earnest here his friends had made an attempt 
to get word to him, but it failed, and the rescuer got 
but short shrift.” 

“Was he killed ? ” I cried. 

“Dost thou remember the day thou earnest into 
the yard that a man was shot on the wall ? ” 

“ Next to one other scene I will remember it to my 
death,” I cried. “ It seemed but an ill omen to my 
coming.” 

“ ’Twas his foster-brother,” continued the armourer, 
“ and but a grim work he made of it. He was the 
third.” 

“ And since then ? ” I asked. 

“ Since then there have been no more.” 

“ Could I see this man ? ” I asked. 

“ See him ! Thou art mad ! ” he answered. “ By 
certes, nay ! Thou knowest more than is good for 
thee now, without ’dangering thy neck and mine ! 
But my forge cooleth, and this good blade must be 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


148 

tempered.” And lie forthwith fell to his hammering 
and would say no more. 

But this gave me much grave and ill thought. I 
would lie on my bed at night and think of that poor 
soul chained to his rock in a living death. Then 
memory of my trap came into my mind, and what 
I knew of the under castle, and I wondered how far 
I might look into this man’s place of ill abode. But 
somewhat else took place that day, which as it hath 
to do with my life in the castle I must not forget to 
relate. For some time it had been my habit to elude 
my meals at table, and, having little care for food, 
which was a foolish madness of my youth, but regarded 
by others as a proof of my churchly spirit, I went not 
much into the dining-hall. However, either my 
brother Hugh or the Lady Margaret had looked into 
my habits, or perchance the countess herself had some 
compunction of conscience toward me, for word came 
to me in my room by a servant that my presence was 
commanded at the hall table, and with some unwilling- 
ness I obeyed the order. When I entered the hall, 
where all were seated already, I perceived that there 
was somewhat amiss. All were there in their places, 
just as of old, save that next to the countess sat the 
Lady Margaret with a veil partly over her face, and 
opposite sat Hugh with little of heaven in his counten- 
ance. At the head of the table was my lord earl with 
a face like a thundercloud, who said naught nor ate 
more, but drank deeply in a moody silence. None 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


149 


noticed me as I took my place next to mine uncle 
Angus, just above tbe salt as bad been our custom, 
and below tbe others just far enough to be in or out 
of the conversation as our superiors willed. 

The priest with a dark look grumbled in mine ear, 
“ Well, thou hast got back to thy common-sense once 
more.” But I noticed him not, being busy looking 
to get a glimpse of the Lady Margaret, who, with more 
of shyness than I had expected, stole a look my way, 
then catching my glance, withdrew hers in a haughty 
manner, and directed her attention to her food. 

Whatever appetite I may have had now left 
me. It was but a poor meal, where all sat, my 
lady countess in her place, looking as if expectant of 
some catastrophe. The lord earl alone, at the head 
of the table, drank and drank and muttered under his 
beard. The lady countess ate but sparingly of some 
convent food, and spake in low tones to her ward and 
guest, and now and again to my brother. The priest 
said naught after he had addressed me, but watched 
my father the earl, as if expecting something to take 
place. Thus we made our meal in but ill spirits toward 
each other, and I could not but feel on seeing my noble 
father, who was little better than a madman, and my 
grim uncle with his evil glances, that there was after 
all but little remove from the misery there present 
and that of the poor soul chained to his rock in the 
cell below. Then my mind reverted to his condition, 
and it added to my dislike of the priest to know that 


i5o 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


he could be privy to this torturing of a fellow-creature 
all these years, he being a Churchman of sane mind, 
whereas the earl was never in knowledge of anyone 
very long at a time. We had sat there for some while 
in this grim silence, and I had begun to think it about 
time to make my exit from a scene in no way pleasurable 
to me, for the whole position I occupied was one of 
inferiority and semi-degradation, when on a sudden 
the earl rose from his seat, and, dropping his flagon, 
stood pale and trembling, staring and pointing in 
horror and rage at some object which he seemed to 
see, but which was invisible to the rest of the company. 

“ Ho, ho there ! a chair ! a seat for my lord 
bishop ! ” he cried. Then he said, as if speaking to 
some person, “ Comest thou back to daunt me? ” 
Whereat we all started from our places in horror at 
the dread scene, and of the retainers some fled the hall, 
and others stood still in terror, many grim men putting 
hand to blade, as the only means known to them of 
combating a foe, fleshly or of the spirit. I had thought 
that the Lady Margaret would have swooned where 
she sat, but the lady countess partly supported her, 
and stared in horror herself at the look on her lord’s 
face. The priest alone sat in sombre silence, his dark 
smile regarding his brother without either fear or pity. 

“ See ye him not ? ” repeated the earl ; “ there he 
standeth ! Ha, ha ! Thou foul ghost, comest thou 
to front me?” And he regarded the empty air as one 
who seeth a corporate presence. 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


151 

My heart froze within me at this, for the earl had that 
horror in his looks, attitude, and voice, as of one who 
confronts a dread enemy not of this world, and his 
agony lent itself to the company all the more that we 
did not share in his sight of the invisible apparition. 

Then the countess showed her great fortitude of 
spirit, believing as she did in the supernatural aspect 
of this visitation. 

“ Sir priest,” she cried as with an effort, “ in the 
name of Heaven exorcise this ill fit from off him ; or 
if it be a demon, drive it from our presence ! ” 

But the priest stirred not. “ Madam,” he said 
calmly, and his voice as he spake jarred on me, “ ’tis 
but a fit he hath, sent as a visitation of Heaven for 
his great sin of sacrilege. ’Tis but air he looketh upon, 
where his mind tormenteth him for his ill deed. Vex 
him not, ’twill soon pass.” 

But this did not comfort the countess, nor the rest 
of us. She muttered somewhat about heresy, and 
took to her beads, while the rest of us sat in dread 
expectancy, for the earl still stood there and held 
speech with some invisible presence. 

Then something took place which we had not looked 
for. The earl, still keeping his gaze on the invisible, 
said in stern tones, “ Bring me my sword ! I will slay 
him again. I will show him that I am master.” But 
no one of us stirred. Then he spake that which made 
us all wonder, and turned me as it were to stone with 
amazement. 


152 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


“ Ian ! My son Ian ! My sword ! Fetch me my 
sword ! ” But I moved not at first because of my 
amazement. Then he repeated it again, and there 
was a cry of pathos in his voice. “ Ian my son, dost 
thou not hear thy father ? ” At this I could stand no 
more, and I arose. At this the countess stood up, 
her fear gone, but her rage terrible to look upon, and 
said, “ My son Hugh shall go ! ” Then Hugh, all in 
amaze, as I was, stood up. But the earl cried out, “ Nay, 
none but my son, my son Ian, shall do this ! ” 

All stared in wonder, and the lady countess, casting 
on me a look of intense hate and scorn, said, “ My 
son Hugh, attend thy mother ! ” Then she said, 
“ Sir priest, thou wert right. This is indeed madness. 
I may not stay here, it is not fitting ! ” And signalling 
to the Lady Margaret and my brother to follow her, 
she prepared to leave the room. Then the earl turned, 
and in voice of thunder commanded her to stay, and as 
he spake the words fell before us in a deadly swoon 
on the floor of the hall. 


CHAPTER XIY 


fTVHE dread visitation winch had come upon the 
earl was but the beginning of an illness which 
was ultimately to bring him to his death. There 
were few in the castle but believed that it was a super- 
natural occurrence, and it added to other ills a certain 
gloom and horror not to be shaken off. Were it not 
that our retainers and followers had no better place 
to go, they would have fled the castle, for the terror 
caused by this awful visitation was strong upon them 
all. 

As for me, I had left the dining-hall with but a sad 
heart, for I felt that the earl’s attitude toward me 
would, despite her churchly conscience, cause the 
countess to make my stay at Girnigoe but a short one. 
In this I was right, for I had scarce reached my room 
when I was followed by a page, who brought message 
that my lady countess required my presence at once in 
her apartment. 

Now I was but low in spirits with the whole matter. 
My life in the place had come to a pass when I cared 
little what became of me. So it was with a proud and 
indifferent air that I went to answer her summons. 

153 


154 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


She had that cold, hateful look on her face as I entered, 
and had I feared the result I would have read my 
doom written there. 

“ Thou hast stayed here over long to bring woe 
on this place, and shame on a great house,” she said. 
“ This madness of my lord’s to-day hath made it 
necessary that you should leave this castle, where 
in all properness you should never have stayed.” 

“ Madam,” I answered, giving her pride for pride, 
“ I came not here of mine own free will, nor have I 
stayed with any degree of happiness or pleasure, nor 
is it fault of mine that I have been used with despite 
in these walls, which had been in right mine own.” 

“ Ho, ho ! ” she laughed scornfully, “ who hath 
filled thy mad brain with this lying folly ? Dost know 
what thou art, and how such as thou are despised 
and a standing shame to their own kind ? Dost thou 
know that ? ” But I stopped her. 

“ Madam,” I cried, “ spare me the rest. My soul 
hath been seared with thy scorn, but you shall not 
insult the memory of one who is a saint in heaven ! ” 
and I faced her fiercely. “Whosever the sin, it was 
not hers, and thou showest little feeling to upbraid me, 
the innocent victim, with what thou callest my disgrace. 
Nay, nay ! let me go ! This is no place, as you truly 
say, for such as I. The world is before me, and I 
will seek that kindness amid strangers refused me by 
those who are mine own kin.” And I turned to go. 

“ Stay ! ” she cried in anger ; “ thou art insolent 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


155 


beyond thy years and place. But, as thou sayest, 
thou art not to blame for thine ill-getting ; therefore 
I will see that thou hast a proper vocation suiting thy 
birth. The priest who hath had charge of thee telleth 
me, however, to my sorrow, that thou hast no love 
toward that vocation which thy sad origin should 
turn thee to ; that thou hast a worldly pride toward 
carnal aims and hopes ; but these thou must forget, 
for it is my desire that you should, so soon as I can 
arrange for you, enter a Church house.” 

“ Madam,” I cried, “ this may not be ! Were 
my birth all you would make it, I am still mine own 
master, and no churl, to be done for as though I had 
no will. Weal or woe, I am no Churchman, but am 
willed to be a soldier and see the world. Thou hast 
had no love for me, and you shall have but little will 
in my fate. I leave this castle this day.” 

“Nay but thou shalt not ! ” she said fiercely, 
changing her mind, as if angered at my determination 
to go. “ Thou shalt not leave while I have will here, 
save to be whipped as an insolent from its shelter. 
Till then thou shalt stay as a menial within its walls.” 

“ Hang me and thou wilt, lady,” I answered, “ I 
will leave here this day.” 

“ Thou shalt smart for this insolence ! ” she cried. 

“ I have but one death to die,” I answered. “ I am 
not af eared ! ” 

“ There are worse punishments than death,” she 
answered, with a dark look. 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


156 

“ Yea, my lady, there are,” I answered, “ as this castle 
doth witness,” and I thought me of the poor prisoner 
beneath. Then I looked her full in the face, and said, 
“ Madam, thou canst not keep me here ! ” 

“We will see to it ! ” she cried haughtily, and without 
another word I turned and left her. 

Bitter were my feelings as I made my hasty prepara- 
tions, with what little I had to carry into the outside 
world ; for I made up my mind that go at once I must, 
having been far too long in this place, where not one 
would regret me, and where I would not have one 
soul to say farewell to on my departure. I had got 
my little all into a bundle, and had taken down my 
sword to buckle it on, when all at once the thought 
came to me that there was a soul in worse case than mine 
in the castle, and that it was cowardly to go away 
without trying to do somewhat for him, for it was an 
ill thing to leave this poor creature in such a place 
when I might be able to bring him some hope even in 
his dying hours. It would not take long to make effort 
to succour him, after which I could take my departure. 

My blood was up at once at this idea, and remembering 
that toil needs nourishment, and that if I chanced to 
find where he was caged, food would be an essential to 
his wants, I found my way to the buttery, where I 
got some supplies such as would make a good meal. 
I brought them back and ate what I felt I needed ; 
then, barring my door, I removed my trap and 
descended. 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


1 57 


I now knew my way, and had somewhat more to 
expect, so was less nervous than on the former occasion. 
The situation of the cell I expected would be on mine 
uncle’s side of the wall, where I had found the opening, 
so I decided to go with care so that he should not 
become aware of my object. Coming to the opening, I 
used a small iron instrument which I had made in 
the armoury, and soon removed enough to allow of my 
passage without causing any great suspicion. This done, 
I hearkened for a moment, and hearing naught, took 
my iron tool with me, and with some effort crawled 
through, and soon stood in a passage or stairway 
similar to the one I had left, leading up, as I suspected, 
to my uncle’s tower and down to the water. As my 
object of search drew me downward and not up, I 
turned that way, and soon found mine eyes greeted 
by a sense of light, and a smell of sea air which caught 
my nostrils. Down and down I went, and soon found 
me in a small cavern where the sea washed in a deep 
emerald-green pool, and high up at one side, along 
the rocks, there lay some sort of small craft for navi- 
gating the water, similar to what I have since learned 
were used by the fisher-folk and by men of the Western 
isles. It was made of wicker-work covered over with 
tough hide, and seemed so light that it could easily 
be put in the water or taken out. I now understood 
how the bishop had come and gone, and how mine 
uncle found his means of egress and ingress. Turning 
this over in my mind, I now began to look about for 


158 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


the abode of the poor prisoner, which I judged by my 
knowledge of the plan of the castle and the position 
of the smithy to be somewhere in this vicinity. That 
it was close about high-tide mark or thereabouts I 
made up my mind, as it would be similar to the cell on 
the other side. This would keep the prisoner in con- 
stant dread of being drowned, a kind of torture I have 
since learned to be very common in these underground 
sea- walled prisons of our coast holds. T soon came to 
a bit of wall at one corner which shut off my passage, 
and I resolved to try if this were the place, for I was 
sure that there was no entry from this part of the stair- 
way to where he was kept. I paused a moment, and 
then tapped on the wall with my iron. There was no 
answer. I tapped again a little louder, when I was 
rewarded by hearing the rattle or clink of a chain, or 
somewhat like it, upon the other side. My heart beat 
wildly, but recovering myself I looked for a part of the 
wall weak enough on which to make my attack. I 
soon found a spot where the stones seemed crumbling 
with age and moisture of the sea air, and here I com- 
menced mine operations. At first I found it hard to 
remove the stones, but after a bit made an entrance 
to the inner wall, which, being loosened, soon rewarded 
me by falling inward so as to leave a fairly large opening. 
As the wall went inward with a considerable noise I 
was startled, and feared lest I might be heard by others 
and my work discovered, and I well knew the penalty 
that would be mine. But there was much wash of 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


159 


the sea on the lower walls, and up into the cove 
below, which deadened any but a considerable sound ; 
so I stood for a moment to listen, when from the inside 
of the opening there came so sad a moan that it made 
my heart curdle to hear it, as though it were a voice 
from the dead rather than from one living. At this 
a strange dread came over me, of what I should see 
or meet on the other side, so I paused a moment, and 
then called, “ Who art thou who crieth ? ” There 
was silence for a space, and then for answer there came, 
“Is it thou, Roderick ? Ha, ha ! hast thou come 
at last ? Winters and summers have I prayed for thee, 
that I might see thy face, and strike thee dead ! But 
’tis too late ! ’tis too late.” 

“ Who art thou ? ” I repeated. Then once more 
came the voice guttural and wild, now strong and 
then at times weak, “ ’Tis the wind in the glen I hear, 
and the voice of my Morna calling me at morn and at 
night to strike thee dead, thou false kinsman, Roderick ! ” 
Then the voice ceased, and there came the rattling of 
chains as if the effort to strike were spent in physical 
rage. 

“ I have come to deliver thee,” I cried. “ I am thy 
friend.” 

“ Friend ! ” answered the voice. “ I have no friend 
save memory and the sea’s voice, which hath spoken 
to me and hath kept me in mine own mind all these 
years. Stand before me, Roderick, thou fiend ! till 
I send thee to thy doom.” 


160 IAN OF THE ORCADES 

I could bear no more, so I crept through the opening, 
and found myself in a small cell hewn from the living 
rock, save on the side where I had come in. It faced 
on the sea-wall, where the tide, now high, washed at my 
feet, sparkling and green with a faint gleam of light 
that entered from under the outer wall. 

Before me and above, where the water lapped on a 
rude ledge or shelf of the rocks, chained by a large 
rusty chain to a great ring in the cavern wall, lay, 
or rather crouched, what seemed to be an old man. 
He partly rose at my approach, his wild eyes sunken 
in his gaunt face, like two expiring torches, and his 
matted hair and beard grizzled and unkempt, and in a half 
moan and half growl menaced me with his manacled 
hands. We gazed at each other for a moment, then 
seeing that I bore no food, and looked not like his 
ordinary jailer, he turned on me with a sort of pathetic 
wonder, and cried, “ Who art thou ? Art thou a spirit 
of my youth come to haunt me?” and there was that 
about the whole man, a courage of strength and pride, 
that stood out through all his rags and misery, and 
liis hideous condition, which had lasted all those years, 
and which sent to my heart a great pity, and a fierce 
rage of indignation that such a one should have endured 
all this at the hands of mine own kin. 

“Ha! I know thee ! ” he now cried. “ I ken well 
thy face. Thou art the spirit of that Ian of my youth, 
that Ian of the Orcades, not yon devil who rules over- 
head and chains me here, but that other older, but 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


161 


false self of his, who was the friend of my youth, who 
dwelt with me in my far western glen, which I shall 
see no more, who stole my sister’s heart, soul, and 
good name, as the sea wind stealeth the bloom from 
the flower, and then left her to die in a far-off place 
in her sadness and shame ; yea ! thou art that very 
one, and could I but get at thee, I would crush thee 
as ocean wrecks a weed.” And he flung himself at 
me with a fierceness that would have boded ill for me 
had he not been circumscribed by his chains. 

“ Thou art mistaken,” I cried. “ I am thy friend.” 

“ My friend ! ” he said, in a dazed sort of way, and 
more quietly, as if the passion in him had its ebbs 
and flows. “ My friend ! Yea, Ian, thou wert Donald’s 
friend in those days ; even if thou keepest me here now, 
far from my straths and glens, and the wife and children 
of my youth ; here where I hunger for the smoke of 
sheiling, and the whistle of plover at morn ; here 
where I shall stay till I die.” Then he changed, as 
if his madness came again more fiercely, and cried, 
“ Roderick ! Roderick, my false kinsman ! ’twas 
thou didst this ! ’Twas thou who desiredst my chief - 
ship ! Give me, Ian, give me but one hour to stand 
before this damned Roderick, with my knife in hand, 
and the sea and sky before us, and I will forgive thee 
all.” 

“ Thou shalt have it ! ” I cried. He looked at me 
a moment as if dazed. 

“ Who art thou then ? Art thou not Ian ? Thou 


162 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


canst not be, after all these years, yet my poor thoughts 
misled me. Who art thou that weareth his looks in 
this place ? 55 

“ I am one,” I cried, “ who like thyself hath no 
reason to love this place, but who hath found out 
the secret of this thy dread abode, and who cometh 
to give thee thy freedom.” 

“ Freedom,” he cried. “ Taunt me not ! Freedom ! 
I will bless thee, bless thee. But thou dost but mock 
me. Ten long winters and summers, which I have 
marked on this wall with my chain, have I endured 
this place through the ice of winter and the scorch 
of summer, and yet have not died ! They cannot 
kill me. 5 Tis my thought, mine hunger for revenge 
hath kept me alive. In all this time I have prayed 
and prayed that I might see mine own place and 
mine own loved ones once again ; and I would have 
given all, yea, even my pride of place, my lordship, 
for this one boon ; but it hath never come. Thou 
art but one sent to mock me!” And his eyes sunk 
listless in their sockets. 

“ Nay,” I cried, “ ’tis indeed true, if thou wilt 
be wise and keep thy counsel.” Then I told him 
of my finding the secret way out, and of the wall, 
which being in a dark corner was not so easy to be 
seen. Then I told him of the small craft in the cove 
outside. He listened at first listlessly, then longingly ; 
and then, when I proceeded to speak of how he might 
escape, he broke down and wept, as a strong man 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 163 

will who sees hope after long, long years of despair and 
waiting. 

“ I can scarce understand ! ” he cried. “ Oh ! God 
of heaven ! my Morna and my bairns ! I shall see ye 
after all ! ” 

44 Boy ! ” he cried fiercely, “ let me grasp thy hand ! 
Fear me not ! ’Tis long since I have held a human 
hand in friend’s grasp. See, ’tis but a poor wasted 
talon. They have clipped the eagle’s claws.” When 
I gave him my hand he clung unto it. “ Boy,” he 
said, “ for I see thou art but a lad, how old art thou ? ” 
And when I told him I was scarce nineteen, he said, 
4 4 And thou wilt do this ? And yet thou lookest over- 
much like Ian for me to trust thee ! Nay, tell me true, 
this is not some trick, some new ill to break my pride 

and hope ! If it were ! ” he said, and he looked 

fiercely at me ; but I stood calmly and kept his hand. 
44 Nay,” he cried, 44 1 see that thou art true,” then he 
released me. 

44 Eat this,” I said, giving him some of the food 
I had brought. 44 It will comfort thee, for thou must 
have all thy strength.” 

44 Yea,” he said, devouring his food like some hungry 
animal. 44 But, boy, how canst thou break these chains 
I wear ? ” Then I told him how I was friend to the 
armourer, and of my finding out his prison in this way. 

44 Yea,” he said, 44 the grim man who feedeth me ! 
He is not unkind, save that he is a dull keeper to do 
what he is bid. But the other one ! He was a devil ! 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


164 

Often had I ached to get these arms about him. I 
would have crushed him as if he were a fly, as I did 
the first one. That one went over-much beyond 
his care to torment me, but he was a fool, and I played 
that I was weak even beyond aid. Then he came 
too near, and then — ho, ho ! my rage overcame me, 
and they found him down there a shapeless mass, 
and well they did, or I had been dead long ago. The 
second one, however, who took his place, he was even 
worse.” 

“ He is dead,” I cried, “ and by my hand.” 

“ Then thou art in truth born to be my saviour ! ” 
he cried. “ But haste thee, lad, or that blunt keeper 
will be coming down and will find thee.” 

“ Keep a good heart,” I answered. “ Build up thy 
strength, and in a few days thou wilt be a free man ! ” 
and wringing his hand once more, I crawled through 
the opening, and fixing the stones roughly in their 
place, I went up, gained mine own side of the other 
wall, and arrived in my room in time to hear a loud 
rapping at my door. 


CHAPTER XY 


rjIHE knocking at my door was imperative, and 
opening it I learned that the castle was in a 
wild stir of excitement ; for the earl was taken with 
a woeful attack of his malady, on hearing that a party 
had been seen marching in, our direction to lay siege 
to the hold. All was bustle and stir, with much running 
of feet and calling of orders in every direction. I went 
out on the battlements, and found my brother Hugh, 
with a sterner look on his face than was his wont, 
overseeing the getting of the castle into condition to 
meet the approaching enemy, which by their appear- 
ance were said to be under the pennons of the princely 
Albany. At a convenient distance from where he was 
employed stood the lady countess, veiled and cloaked 
in black, and attending her in similar weeds was the 
Lady Margaret Seton. 

Whatever might have been my plans as to leaving 
the castle, they were now put quite out of my thoughts, 
and I went about studying how I might assist in this 
hour of danger, and best help in the work of defending 
the hold of my ancestors. Keeping at a distance, 
as my pride dictated, from the noble dame and her 

165 


i66 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


fair ward, I approached my brother Hugh, and asked 
him to give me some part in the coming struggle. 
“ For,” I said, “ whatever sad connection I may have 
with this house, and whatever shame, which I deny, 
may be brought upon it by my presence, I am not 
unmindful of the blood-kinship I bear to you, 
and if I cannot live here within these walls in 
peace and honour, I can at least die in their pro- 
tection.” 

“ Ian,” he answered, “ there may be those things 
betwixt us which should not be betwixt brothers, but 
there is no time now to discuss such matters. My 
eyes are more opened of late to things to which it 
were better they had not formerly been blind, and it 
fears me that great wrongs were done you in bringing 
you to this place, seeing that my lady mother hath 
some hate for you. I would willingly make right 
to you what is your due. Once this danger is past 
I will speak to my lady mother and see what justice 
can be meted out to you, in honour to my father and 
this house, for I fear me that my father hath not long 
for this life. Meanwhile there is little to do here, 
save to keep strict watch and ward against treachery, 
and with a firm blade to meet whatever foe my devilish 
cousin Albany may send against us.” 

“ I am with thee to the death in this,” I answered. 
“ But hadst thou not better try and come to some 
terms with this same Albany ? ” 

“ ’Tis strange,” he answered, “ but thou counsellest 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 167 

as doth my lady mother. But it may not be. Mine 
honour and my father’s honour be at stake.” 

44 But,” I said, “ this is a grave matter for our house. 
I like not our uncle Angus, but it is in my mind that 
he could be of great aid to thee in patching this matter 
over with Albany.” 

4 4 Why, ’tis he who hath counselled me to what I 
am doing ! ” he answered. 

44 How now ! He counselled thee to dare the King’s 
brother ? ” I cried. 44 The devil ! Hugh, beware of 
this priest uncle of ours ; he hath a hate toward thee 
and thy father which bodeth ill to us all ! Take not 
his counsel, which goeth not with wisdom ; but hold 
this siege until thou canst make thy peace with this 
powerful prince, whom no man can long oppose and 
keep his lordship.” 

44 Mine uncle,” returned Hugh, 44 hateth me not 
worse than I him, but thou wrongest him when thou 
sayest he would betray this house to Albany, for he 
wellknoweth I would hang him high from this battle- 
ment did I know such were truth. Moreover, he 
hath a pride of the family which keepeth him loyal. 
He hath talked much to me of late, and methinks he 
is right in his opinion that I should take my father’s 
place and sustain the family name and honour.” 

44 Art thou sure in all this ? ” I cried ; for I saw 
the net into which he in his folly was being meshed. 

44 Yea, I am, Master Ian,” he answered ; 44 for know 
you so far hath he shown his fealty for our house, 


i68 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


that he hath even offered, if I defend this hold, to give 
himself up into Albany’s power as a hostage. Could 
man do more ? ” 

“He hath done that?” I cried. “Indeed, dost 

thou know ? ” I was going to say more, but I 

remembered I could not tell part of mine uncle’s 
treachery unless I made a clean breast of the matter, 
and that Hugh, if indeed he believed me, in his 
vengeance might go so far that I dreaded to tell him,, 
and was in truth in a narrow strait. 

“ Well, sirrah,” cried Hugh, somewhat fiercely, 
“ speak on ! Of what dost thou accuse thine uncle ? 
Might he not as well accuse thee, and with better reason, 
that thou hast cause for infidelity ? ” 

“ Oh, Hugh ! ” I cried, “ my brother, I would die 
for thee. Thou art grievously mistaken in all this.” 

“ Wouldst thou ? ” he answered ; “ then wherefore, 
thou jealous biter of nails, hast thou cast eyes on one 
who is far above thee ? ” 

“ Thou art my brother,” I cried, “ but thou wilt 
yet account to me for this ! ” For it went beyond 
me that he should speak in such manner of that which 
should have been beyond speech betwixt us. Yet 
what he said was but too true, and I saw that mine 
uncle Angus had been priming him on his part. 

“ Then see it,” he answered. “ Be it as you like, 
yet it little becometh thee to cast ill words against 
thine uncle.” And he moved off, leaving me alone 
there on the wall, feeling that I had better have bitten 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 169 

my tongue out, than have given but hints where I 
could not speak the whole truth. I now saw a new 
proof of the priest’s cleverness and guile, in carrying 
his evil ends, and I perceived that it were but folly 
to cope with him who kept us all at odds, and yet 
held us each singly in his power. 

Still I was not one to be foiled, for I was desperate, 
and I saw that he had some new deep scheme on hand 
to carry out what I knew to be his secret aim ; and 
I made up my mind that I would rather die than that 
he should gain his point ; so I determined to stay 
here, do my duty amid all this web of injustice, and 
if possible save these proud, unloving folk in the face 
of their own folly. My brother’s doubt of my truth 
to him but ‘ determined me to be truer to him than 
ever. “ Biter of nails, am I ? ” I said to myself. “ Thou 
wilt yet be thankful to that same biter of nails, my 
proud kinsman.” This was but a boy’s folly in me, 
but there was a sweet pride, even in my dark condition, 
which prompted me to give back good for ill in this 
matter. I was not unmindful also that I might be of 
aid to another, who, far as she was from me in position, 
was not beyond my help. I thus consoled my ruffled 
spirits, but Fate was not done with me even yet. There 
was worse to come. As I stood there, who should 
touch me on the shoulder but mine uncle Angus. I 
was in no mood for his consolation, so I shook him off 
with an ill grace ; but he felt he had me in his coils and 
gave me no favour in his words. 


170 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


“ Come, mine ill-mannerly Church cub,” he cried, 
“ put on thy best face, thy lady would fain speak with 
thee ! ” 

“ I am no Church cub,” I cried ; then remembering 
what folly it was to quarrel with him, I remained silent 
and followed to where my lady stood. I now fully 
realised that his object was to humiliate me beyond all 
forgetfulness, in mine own eyes, before these people ; 
and especially her whom I thought most of, and thus 
cut me off from all human relations for his own purpose, 
and the more devilish was his plot that he knew that 
I was aware of it all. All this only the more maddened 
me against the man, especially seeing that I could 
have no redress. I now saw that mine only true revenge 
was in foiling these same schemes of his, but to do this 
I had to keep mine own counsel. So I remained silent 
when he said as we went, “ So thy proud brother hath 
been showing thee Thy place, my brave swordsman ! ” 
I answered naught, and by a hard effort kept my temper, 
though I could have smote him in the face where he 
walked, had I dared. When we approached the countess 
the slight figure beside her was for withdrawing, but 
the countess said, “ Thou needst not go, my lady, ’tis 
but this young man with whom I would have a few 
words, then will we go to my lord, who needeth us.” 
So the slight veiled figure stayed, though she spake 
not to me one word, nor seemed to notice me more 
than if I were a common armsman come to receive 
orders, and I knew it was the intention of the lady 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


171 

countess, who probably also had word of my folly 
toward her ward, to further lower me in her eyes. 

“ Hark you, sirrah,” she said to me as I came up, 
and she looked in her dark robe like some proud queen, 
“ know you that this time of danger be no time for 
skulkers and brawlers in this castle, where even our 
meanest vassals have laid their hand to some work.” 

As she spake I could feel the fierceness of her hate 
and high scorn burn my soul like a blast of a hot desert 
wind, and I saw that the slight figure near trembled 
for an instant ’neath the veil, but I suppressed my woe, 
and determined to meet the countess as proudly as 
she met me. 

“ Lady,” I cried, “I am no skulker or brawler, 
as thou well knowest, and if I am in shelter of these 
walls at this present time, I am here against mine own 
will, and at thy express commands, as thou well knowest,” 
and I said this somewhat fiercely, for her contempt 
and unjust words cut me to the heart, and I could not 
but justify me in the presence of her whose opinion I 
valued more than all else in the wide world. 

“ Sirrah, dost thou dare ? ” she answered, “ dost 
thou dare beard me here, thou ingrate ? Thou shalt 
be punished. Ho there ! ” she cried, turning to a 
man, “ call up the armourer. I will chain this youth 
to this wall or a lower one.” 

“ Chain me, hang me, madam, do thy worst, I care 
not, further thou mayest not go,” I answered. But 
here the priest, seeing perchance that my humiliation 


1 72 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


had gone far enough for his purposes, put his voice 
in and said, “ For shame, lady, thou wilt not do this 
at this perilous time ? ” She turned on him fiercely. 

“ Thou ! ” she cried, “ thou, sir priest, darest thou 
meddle with me?” 

“ Madam,” he answered, “ he belongeth unto Holy 
Church, forget not that.” 

“ And what of that, sir priest ? ” she asked. 

“ ’Tis an ill time,” he answered. “ Thy credit that 
way is much overdrawn now, as thou knowest ; ” and 
I saw that he had influenced her, but it angered me to 
be under his protection, so I interrupted fiercely — 

“ I am no Churchman, I am mine own man, as thou 
well knowest.” 

“ Then if thou art, thou must e’en hang alone ! ” 
he answered, with his ill smile. “ But, my lady, were 
it not better to put this same forward youth to some 
hard practical labour, where we may profit by his 
presence, and rob him of much of this arrogance that 
turneth his head.” And turning to me, he said — 

“ Thou most boastful youth, in all that pertaineth 
to arms and practical matters, what canst thou do ? ” 
His sudden question puzzled me for a moment, for 
beyond my book-lore I was as bare of accomplishments 
as a youth could well be, and I stood in a quandary 
thinking how I should answer, when my eye caught the 
figure of my friend the smith and armourer, just come 
up at the lady countess’s order to be my executioner. 
An idea struck me, and I answered, looking at my 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


m 


lady, “ I know one trade indifferent well, I can do 
smith’s work, as yon armourer can testify doth he 
love me.” 

“ Yea, my lady,” said the armourer, “ I am much 
in need of aid, now that every blade and heft of the 
castle seemeth on my hands, and the lad hath a right 
strong and deft hand and arm for a Church clerk.” 

“ Yea,” said her ladyship, “ he shall be thine ap- 
prentice, see that he shirketh not at his toil ; ” and with 
a scornful side-look at me, .she turned and went down. 

This sudden come-down of all my fortunes, though 
part of mine own making to get rid of mine uncle and 
his schemes, yet jarred sadly on my pride, so that I 
could scarce move, and ere I could think I was alone 
in the now coming dusk of the northern night. I looked 
about me, and over the turrets and bastions on one side 
loomed the billows of the wild ocean, angered by the 
late autumn season, and on the other side the wild 
fastness of heather-clad hills and distant mountains 
of the south and west. “ ’Tis a fit setting to my life,” 
I cried, and I turned me sadly and started to go down, 
for I felt that toil were better than thoughts such as 
mine, when suddenly I felt someone pluck at my coat, 
and I turned me about, and there in the dusk stood the 
Lady Margaret. 

“ Keep up thy courage ! ” she whispered, “ remember 
if all else fails thou hast one friend.” I could stand 
it no longer. My passion overmastered me at her 
kind words and sight of her sweet face, I was on my 


174 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


knees to her, and pressed my lips to her hand. Then 
she seemed to remember the difference betwixt us, 
for she drew back with hauteur and said sadly — 

44 Sir, you must not ! ” 

“ Madam,” I cried, “ I thank you for your kind 
words and condescension toward one like me.” 

4 4 Keep thy heart and be worthy of thyself,” she 
answered, and ere I could collect myself she was gone. 
Then, with a heart beating with many mingled emotions, 
and wild thoughts which I dare not look into too closely, 
I hurried down to the armourer’s cell, and was soon 
merrily beating in unison with my worthy friend and 
master at the ringing blades of steel. 


CHAPTER XYI 


"jV/TY toil with my friend and master the armourer 
was not so arduous that it kept me from knowing 
a little of what was going on in the castle ; and it was 
advantageous to me in that it gave me somewhat to 
do, and little time to worry over mine own position and 
the dangers and plots that surrounded us all. Now, 
that wise man my master, who was a right good 
servant to my lord, commended me highly on my 
choice betwixt his and a churchly calling. 

“ For what hath a youth like thee do to with masses ? ” 
he said, as he swelled his bellows, which were made 
of several good deer-hides, and blew the fire fiercer in 
his forge, where the ruddy blades rustled and gleamed 
while he tucked them comfortably in with coals. 

“ Thou wert not made for a saviour of souls but a 
maker of blades and spear-heads, and then thou canst 
ride to battle in thy lord’s train, and e’en test thine 
own workmanship on his foes, as a good man and 
worthy smith should.” 

But my mind was too full of thoughts of mine own 
to pay much heed to the worthy smith’s maxims ; 
for I had secret plans for ridding him of his prisoner 

175 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


176 

below, and had he known what was really in my mind, 
as I stood there beating the hot iron and making the 
sparks fly on his anvil, he would have been more like 
than blessing me to have treated me as Saint Swithin 
did that great enemy of mankind, when the latter, 
on some similar treachery bent, had entered the pre- 
cincts of his charmed forge. 

^However, I had no time to consider mine unfair- 
ness to the honest smith, for I had much to do and 
much to consider. The troops sent by Albany had 
dwindled down into a few men-at-arms and a squire 
commanded by one knight, who duly appeared before 
the castle, and, demanding admittance in the King’s 
name, had formally delivered a message commanding 
the lord earl, for his great crimes, especially that of 
foully murdering the lord bishop, to appear in person, 
under the direct penalties of life and property, at the 
royal Court at Stirling, one month from thence, to 
answer for his ill to the great Prince Albany. This 
the lord earl had, in opposition to his countess’s will, 
but secretly instigated, I believe, by the false priest, 
risen in person to answer in a defiant manner ; the 
political result of which was to bring sure ruin on his 
house, but the physical effect was the shortening of his 
life. 

As I was not present at this scene, the interview 
with the ambassador, and only had it from the words 
of others, I cannot give it in detail here, though it had a 
dread effect of a most tragic nature on me and others, 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


1 77 


and brought about all those ill ends that the scheming 
priest had so much at heart to accomplish. It seemed, 
in short, that the news of the knight’s approach and 
demand were carried at once by mine uncle to the earl 
in his sick chamber, and where, in the detail, he, for 
his own purposes, repeated in full all of the arrogant 
demand, omitting none of its most insulting threats 
and denunciations. So that the earl, being incensed 
even beyond his natural passion hnd bound of control, 
had had himself borne into his great hall by his retainers, 
and there, rising from his sick couch, overborne by 
rage and pride at the nature of the message sent him, 
with swollen veins and blazing eyes sent back the 
royal mandate of the puissant Albany in such strong 
and defiant terms, and couched in such treasonable 
and bitter language, as in which only some heathen 
Emperor might return to an overbearing Pope his 
mandate of submission. When he had finished he 
raised himself up, and with clenched fists went off 
into one of his ill-fits, where he lay as if dead, and was 
so borne back to his chamber. It was said that the 
knight, a sinister looking man, a Sir Something-or- 
other, at first stood there smiling an ill smile at his 
page, as if wondering at the earl’s foolhardy audacity ; 
but that as he went on the sly smile changed to a look 
of covert fear, and even terror ; and when dismissed 
he was in much haste to leave the castle. I also heard 
that mine uncle Angus, who stood near in grim silence 
during the whole scene, did much afterward to explain, 


178 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


or pretend to explain, away the words of his brother, and 
apologise for what he called the earl’s state of madness ; 
but that on the other hand Hugh treated the knight with 
but short words and stern manner, and made no single 
attempt to palliate his father’s message to the princely 
Albany ; the result being that, while the knight went away 
with some sort of sympathy for the polite priest, he 
carried back but a poor account of the surly son of so 
headstrong and renegade a father. There is no doubt 
that this was the direct cause of the siege that was 
brought against us afterwards, and fastened upon 
Hugh the hate and vengeance of our cousin Albany. 
Such during the following days was the condition 
of matters in the castle of my fathers, where I was 
now installed as armourer’s apprentice, and where 
in that capacity I was already meditating the breaking 
of the chains of its most important prisoner. Twice 
since I had discovered him had I found time to pay 
him a visit, during which I had been preparing him 
for that liberty he had despaired of so long, and which 
he even now still doubted as finally to be accomplished, 
so accustomed does the mind become to the base con- 
ditions of an habitual hopelessness. It was on the 
even after the departure of the envoy, and the hurry 
and bustle of the castle for what was expected in the 
way of siege gave me leisure and chance to set my 
prisoner at liberty. I had tried the small vessel on 
the water, but was too unaccustomed to such a craft, 
or to any, for that matter, to venture in it ; but the 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


179 


prisoner, who claimed to have been used to such crafts 
on his native lochs and streams, hailed it with delight 
as a safe mode of deliverance. 

“ My son,” he said, when after some labour I had 
relieved him of his chains and clothed him with garments 
which I had procured, “ I can never bless thee enough ! ” 

“ Stay not for blessing,” I cried, “ or thou wilt 
curse us both do they find us here % Follow me, and 
fear not ! ” 

But so long had he been in a crouched position that 
he had in somewhat lost the firm use of his limbs, so 
that all he could do was to crawl and stagger along; 
but I knew, and he knew, that all that he wanted was 
the fresh air and the exercise of his outdoor fife to 
bring him back to his former strength. “ Once I 
am in the open,” he said, “ I will be mine own self 
again ; ” and with a swift persistence he followed me 
out and down to the water’s edge, where, without my 
assistance, to my surprise he launched the boat and 
grasped the paddle, as he called it, with a celerity and 
ease that made me marvel. 

“ My son and brother,” he cried, “ this is no moment 
to tarry for words. Thou hast done that for me I 
can never forget, but from what thou hast let fall in 
thy conversation it hath come to me that there is 
that betwixt us which thou little knowest of, and which 
added to this humane act of thine doth make us one 
for ever ! As I have told thee,” he continued, “ I 
am of an old and kingly fine. My people were princes 


i8o 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


in the West when these present monarchs were not 
known, and I hold it no honour that the father of my 
father’s father did marry on this so-called royal line. 
But this is to little account, save that I have some 
small power with this man they call Albany, who hath 
honour to be of common blood with my family. I can 
speak no more; but take this,” and he gave into my 
hand a curious small stone, graven with some strange 
marks on one side. “ If thou ever wantest mine aid,” 
he said, “go up the strath beyond the castle till thou 
seest a large bare hill which standeth by itself, and on 
it, in a hollow, a large square stone. Leave this there 
on that stone, and come back in one day and a night 
and thou shalt hear word of me. Now fare thee well ! ” 
And ere I could answer he dipped his paddle in the 
water and was gone. I stood for a few moments lost 
in amazement, now that he had vanished, at what 
I had done, and though I would have done it again had 
it been in my power, yet now that it was over I could 
not help feeling as if I had, in a manner, been lacking in 
faith to mine house, for so strong are the ties of blood 
that we are not thought to have any feelings, even those 
of pity or mercy, which are at variance with the feud 
duties to the house of our lord. 

Having tried to give my weakness somewhat of an 
honourable appearance, without much success, I re- 
traced my steps, and as I went up the stairway, there 
in the passage I met mine uncle Angus face to face. 
We stood there for some short space, each of us taken 


TAN OF THE ORCADES 


181 


sudden, and ill at ease, but be was tbe first to find bis 
speech and self-confidence. 

“ Well, sirrah,” be said fiercely, “ so thou hast been 
spying on my room.” Then, as if remembering himself, 
he added, “ Thou hast but little to gain here, ’tis but the 
private place where a poor priest who loveth the sea and 
his own thoughts may come and muse.” 

But I was bound to show him that I knew the full 
depths of his treachery, so I answered with a meaning 
look, “ The better that thou mayest muse in safety 
by the sea’s edge, I have rid thee of that craft in which 
thou wert wont to go abroad on its bosom.” 

“ How knowest thou ? What craft ? ” he demanded, 
as if in anger. Then he said, “ ’Tis not worth while to 
waste words with such as thee when graver matters are 
at stake. Oh, thou fool,” he continued, “ thou hast 
made a bad mess of things with thy meddling. But 
what carest thou that a great house like this is on the 
brink of ruin ? ” 

“ ’Tis little thou carest ! ” I cried, as I followed him 
up a similar stair to that of mine, which opened into a 
trap in the floor of his chamber. 

“ Hearken, thou marplot,” he cried as we ascended, 
“ here is ill news for one who careth ! The earl, thy 
father, be dying ; thy brother Hugh by his obstinate pride 
be as good as dead ” (rather by thy treacherous counsel, 
thought I in my heart) ; “ but,” he continued, “ this fair 
lady, who, like another Helen, fires this little Troy, is 
soon to be taken back to Court, where thy fool eyes will 


i 82 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


never see her more ; and what will be left to thee but to 
beat apprenticeship to yon brute armourer, who ham- 
mereth his iron beneath ? ” 

“ Better that,” I answered, “ with a good conscience 
than the power of a tyrant or plotter,” and I turned 
to follow him up, when I suddenly remembered that I 
had left the door of my room barred on the inside. 
There was now but one thing for me to do, and that was 
to go back and leave him to suspect what he liked of me 
in the matter ; and I was so sick of the man that I cared 
little, and I had had enough of his presence. But he 
said, “ Wait, Master Ian, I would speak further with 
thee.” 

“ Well, make short thy counsel,” I cried, “ for it hath 
done me little save ill so far.” 

“ Say rather thy refusal to abide by it,” he answered ; 
then this strange uncle of mine made his last effort to 
get round me by a power of his glamour. “ Ian,” he 
cried, placing his hand on my shoulder, “ dost thou not 
see that ’neath his rough exterior, and, perchance, ill 
speech, thine uncle Angus hath thy good at heart ? ” 
And he spake so much in his old complacent manner, 
and he wore such a fine assumption of kindly, almost 
affectionate, rebuke, and appeal in voice and manner, 
that had I not known his wiles, and judged him rather 
by his cold furtive eye, I would have believed him to be 
that kind, misunderstood, fatherly priest that he would 
have himself appear. But I shook him off. “ Nay ! 
mine uncle,” I answered, “ thou and I are not to walk 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


183 


together in this business, for I would have thee under- 
stand that thy ways are not mine, nor mine thine. 
Thy love for me, which thou dost protest so strongly, 
is but that of the toper for the wine cask when the wine is 
in,” and I made as to go. 

“ Stay,” he commanded, “ one word more, thou 
perverse fool. I would have made thee great, I would 
have given thee thine own ; but thou hast scorned me, 
and all for the false fancy of sickly bastard honour and a 
pink-and- white slip of a girl. Now dread my vengeance ! 
Dost thou know this headstrong earl is ended, thy 
brother but a boy without wit or guile, that even now 
the troops of Albany come this way to take the mad 
earl ? Then what will be thy part ? Hast thou no 
part to play ? Or wilt thou, who claimest all this 
possession and power, sink them to the toil of an 
armourer’s apprentice, and will he who hath aspired 
to the love of the King’s ward content him to stay below 
in safety, and beat steel for braver folk to defend her.” 

“ I care not for thy taunts ! ” I cried. “ I will carry 
me as circumstance and my natural valour direct me 
in this castle, where I am of little account. Let the 
danger come which thou so well lovest to prophesy, 
and I will know how to meet it as becometh my man- 
hood ! ” And with that I turned on my heel and went 
down again, while he stood staring in some astonish- 
ment. 


CHAPTER XVII 


T HAT day I absented myself from my accustomed 
place at the forge in the armourer’s cell ; and the 
next day, on descending to my work, fearing to meet 
the smith’s discovery of the escape of his prisoner, I 
was surprised to find the fire out, and, instead of ham- 
mering away at the bright steel, my friend and master 
in great confusion of countenance, bestirring himself as 
if making ready for a long journey. 

“ What meaneth this ? ” I cried, for I saw that he 
was hoping to have avoided me, and to have got away 
ere mine entrance. But he eluded my question, and 
kept hard at work on his preparations with an averted 
face, as though he feared I would read his secret with 
mine eyes. “ Look here, master smith,” I cried, 
assuming a tone unmeet for my position as his 
assistant, but quite in keeping with mine own station 
as one interested in the welfare of the castle on the eve 
of an expected siege. “ What meaneth this ? I come to 
aid thee in thy work and I see thy fire is out, thy anvil 
silent, and thy hammer laid aside,” and I caught him 
by the shoulder. Then his manner changed, and 
dropping the bundle he was making of some special tools 

184 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 185 

valuable to his trade, he confronted me with a sullen and 
dogged manner. 

“ It meaneth but one thing to me, my bold master,” 
he replied. “ My prisoner is flown or vanished ; as his 
keeper I am answerable for him with my life, and as I 
cannot produce his body to show that he be dead, ’tis best 
for me, knowing the fierce earl and the people of this hold, 
to be gone myself, ere I be pinned with arrows to the 
beam in the castle wall, or be made to dance on naught 
in an hempen collar.” 

“ But is it likely,” I questioned, “ that any but thou 
will discover for some time the disappearance of this 
man ? ” For I could find nothing else to say, nor could 
I at the moment simulate surprise at the man’s dis- 
appearance ; and I continued, “ The earl is dying, so 
they say, and the rest of the folk who know have much 
to think of beside this matter.” 

“ Be that as it may,” he answered, “ it is true all the 
same that I should be going, ere the earl thinks to make 
inquiries.” 

“ How now, my master ! ” I said, “is it honest for 
thee to leave this place at this time, when so much 
dependeth on thee, when it is like that a long siege, 
the gravest perchance known in its history, is about 
to beset its walls, and thy knowledge and skill will be 
needed every hour ? Is it right and faithful for thee 
to forsake it in such an hour ? ” 

“ As for that,” he answered, with some impudence, 
“ I am but a poor smith, versed only in metals and their 


i86 


TAN OF THE ORCADES 


temper, leaving such things as faith and honour to clerks 
and others such as thou art. ’Tis but for me to know 
that when the edge is worn the blade is useless, that 
when the blade is snapped the hilt is but fit to cast away ; 
and this teacheth me to know that, aside from my fear 
of punishment for loss of this prisoner, ’tis time for wise 
folk to leave this castle. This earl, as thou sayest, will 
soon be gone. His son is but a hot-headed lad, who 
hath his father’s madness, without his gravity of experi- 
ence ; and this dread priest, thine uncle, is like to turn 
this hold into a monkery ; so that where be my trade to 
find a use ? Then, if the Lord Albany taketh this place 
he may hang me ere he findeth out mine ability. So 
it is imperative that I find a new master ere I lose this 
one, and as matters stand it behoves me to make mine 
exit. Therefore, stand aside, master,” he continued ; 
“ or better, for I have a liking for thee, lad, come thou 
with me, for it seems to me that thy place in this hold 
be but a poor and unhappy one.” 

Now I could not but admit to myself that there was 
much truth and sense in this selfish reasoning of the 
master armourer, and I could not but be struck by his 
kindly offer to make me of his company, and added 
to this I had a liking for the man and should feel 
his absence sorely. But at the same time I judged 
that he lacked that higher moral sense of his duty 
and of care for the safety of the castle, and I made 
up my mind to detain him if possible. So I said, 
“ But, sirrah, thy will may be as thou sayest, and thy 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


187 

reasons for leaving be strong, but how mayest thou get 
thyself out of this hold without thy flight being dis- 
covered ? ” 

“ As for that,” he answered, “ I am a privileged 
man, being master armourer here these many years, 
so that I have liberty to come and go from this place 
into the country on certain duties pertaining to my 
craft and other matters ; so that none will suspect till 
I am well out of their reach and am safe in the Lord 
Albany’s protection.” To this I had no answer, for I 
saw that he had cleverly foreseen all, as he had said, 
and that his past liberty and faithfulness would now 
enable him to escape without suspicion. But I had 
one argument left to confront him with, and had kept 
it until the last, as I had not the courage to use it at 
first. 

“ This may be all very well, my good smith,” I said, 
“ but thou hast not counted on my knowledge of this 
matter. Thou well sayest I am not happy in this 
castle, but for all that, being kin to the lord thereof, 
and knowing the value of thy trade to its safety at this 
time, I tell thee that if thou dost not put yon bundle 
aside, and get thee to work, I will go at once to the Lord 
Hugh and inform him of the whole matter.” To my 
astonishment and chagrin he turned on me and laughed 
in my face. “ Nay but thou wilt not,” he said, “ my 
bold sir, for then it might be asked how did my prisoner 
escape, and I might remember that thou wert privy 
to knowledge of his place of confinement, and alone 


1 88 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


had access to this room wherein is the opening to his 
cell. Were I to tell how thou didst express strong 
sympathy with his condition, it might go harder with 
thee than with myself.” 

At this I stood as if confounded, not without some 
anger, for I saw that he had a good inkling of the truth, 
or at least enough of it to close my mouth and cast the 
blame of his going on my shoulders. He also gave me 
a feeling that I had been guilty of putting him in danger 
as a consequence of mine act. Seeing my confusion, 
he continued, “ It were better for thee as well as myself 
that I were gone. Then all the blame would fall on 
me, whereas if I stayed, thou, being my assistant, 
mightst fall under the same accusation.” 

At this subtle reasoning, for all my worry and con- 
fusion, I could not help but smile. “ Master smith,” 
I said, “ thou hast a fine array of words for a man of 
metal, and some fine sense of reason for all thy dulness. 
It may be true, all that thou hast said, and to which I 
have no answer ; but I cannot but feel that it is an 
ill time for so good a craftsman as thou art to go over 
to the enemy, knowing, as thou dost, all the weak places 
and secret defences of this hold. But as thou art 
resolved on this, and as I may not hinder thee, I would 
have thee promise not to say whence thou comest, 
and that thou shalt not give thy skill in building engines 
or driving bolts against these walls. Dost thou but 
promise this, and I will wish thee God-speed.” 

“Well hast thou considered and spoken, my good 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 189 

master,” he answered, “ and it only grieves me that I 
cannot have thy company on the road, and the pleasure 
of making a good armourer out of thee in the place 
where I shall go, for it is mine aim to go straight to the 
Court, where my skill will have better chance of being 
proven than it getteth in this dull place. And,” he 
continued, “ I am not leaving this hold without a smith, 
for do I not leave thee, who hath already much skill 
for the coarser making and the mending thereof.” 
Even in this time his pride in his skill could not but 
give him this patronage of my lesser experience. 

“ My good armourer,” I answered, “ it is my deter- 
mination to hold thy place here till a better doth come ; 
and in mine humble way try to make good thine 
absence.” With that he shook my hand, we wished 
each other God-speed, and I parted from him, the one 
soul with whom I had aught in common, in but sad 
condition of heart. Neither of us knew of the tragic 
circumstances under which we should next meet ; 
but I realised with some heaviness of spirit and qualms 
of conscience that in letting loose the prisoner I had 
caused his guard to disappear also. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


I T was not for many hours after his departure 
that the armourer was missed, and not until 
some time had passed was he suspected of desertion. 
Then, though a party was sent out in search, it was 
too late, and no trace of him could be found. 

Meanwhile I had striven to the best of my ability 
to take his place, and I soon found that, though by 
no means a skilful metallurger, yet I was somewhat 
more than an indifferent welder of handles and temperer 
of blades ; and I found a resource against my loneliness 
and sad thoughts in this occupation, which, while 
it built me up into a more sturdy frame of body, gave 
me also a more healthful trend of spirit. 

When it became a common knowledge that I was 
the master armourer of the castle, my advice was 
called into requisition as to the repairing and putting 
in order of the great cross-bolts which were on the 
battlements — those engines of war by which we send 
great stones among the enemy, and which are therefore 
of much value in the defence of a fortress such as 
Girnigoe. 

Now here my knowledge did not go so far, save to 

190 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


191 

strengthen beams, by adding to or replacing iron 
clamps and bolts with which they were held together. 
But for the placing of the engines at the proper angles, 
and the testing of their carrying power, and the direct- 
ing of their volleys, I was a poor representative of 
the departed master armourer. Luckily, however, 
one of the elder men-at-arms had some little skill and 
much pride in these matters ; and as I paid close atten- 
tion to what he required to be done, we, between us, 
managed, so far as in our power lay, to get the castle 
into a fair condition for the expected siege. 

Meanwhile my brother was occupied in seeing that 
stores of provisions and herds of cattle were brought 
into the hold, or close under protection of its walls. 
These provisions were gained by making levies on those 
of our vassals who were obliged by their feudal duties 
to supply such when called upon by their lord earl. 
For several days these preparations went on, while in 
the meantime a greater addition was made to the 
number of our followers, the earl’s vassals for the most 
part, save some who were angered at his impositions 
upon them, being willing to follow their lord and to 
defend his rights and power, even against so powerful 
a prince as the great Albany. 

During this time, which lengthened into weeks, 
I had become changed by my hard labour of arms 
and hands from a puerile stripling into a morose but 
active young man. In this mood I determined to 
make my place mine own in the castle, living, if possible, 


192 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


save when at toil, neither with the great folk nor with 
the retainers. For this purpose I pled the value of 
my time as a reason for having my meals sent to the 
smithy, where I spent many of mine hours when not 
on the battlements with the captain of armsmen direct- 
ing the practice with the great cross-bolts. Here 
sometimes my brother Hugh would come and watch 
our work, or perchance ask a question, or give an 
opinion ; but as ever since that night when we had 
ill-words I had never addressed him, save to answer 
his questions, we had in truth no commerce of thought 
save as any armourer and his lord might have. As 
for the lady countess and the Lady Margaret, I saw 
them not. They were ever absent when I was on the 
wall, the countess being, I understood, in close attend- 
ance on the lord earl or at prayers in the chapel. There 
I seldom or rarely went, fearing to meet either of them 
or mine uncle Angus ; for in my new vocation I wanted 
naught save to forget mine ill, and gradually to carve 
out a new mode of life. But it was not altogether 
possible to shut out the old life and the old thoughts ; 
though I would in my poor pride try and persuade 
myself that I was dead to all in the past, I found, even 
at my toil, or on my couch at night, that the rude 
armourer would think upon a fair face and a sweet 
voice, and yearn for that love and human friendship 
which a sad fate had denied. And at times, when in 
stern and cold converse on mechanical matters with my 
lordly brother, who ever maintained toward me, as 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


193 


toward the others, a high tone of command, would 
my heart leap out of the bounds of injured pride, and 
yearn toward him with a feeling of brotherly love. 
Now matters went on in this way for some weeks, when 
somewhat happened which threw the castle into 
terrible sorrow and gloom. It was no less than the 
death of the great earl himself, which happened in a 
mournful and tragic manner. 

For some days it had been understood that he was 
sinking ; but shut off, as I was, an alien in the place, 
I could know but little of the events which went on 
beyond the duties with which I was engrossed. If 
at times it came to me with force that he was my father, 
and that the fact that he was dying should be of matter 
to me, I put it aside as not to be considered, seeing 
that I was never thought of in that relation by him or 
by others ; and it was no fault of mine if I were prevented 
from performing those sacred duties of a child towards 
his own parent. 

One eventide, however, when I was putting some 
finishing touches on a blade which I had intended 
for mine own use, and as I beat at the bright metal, 
making it ring on the iron, and thinking over my sad 
thoughts, a page came running into my cell, and prayed 
me, “ For Our Lady’s sake,” to make quick haste and 
come at once, “ for,” he said, “ the lord earl is passing, 
and he calleth thee : and, master smith,” he continued, 
“ all night long he did naught but call on a woman’s 
name which none of us have ever heard before ; and 
x 3 


194 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


my lady countess she does naught but weep and pray ; 
and now he calleth for thee, and thou must haste quick, 
for he be in the throe ! ” 

Without staying to remove mine apron of tanned 
deerskin, or to lay down my blade, I followed the 
page, who without pause to take breath retraced his 
steps whence he had come. Soon we came to the 
great dining-hall, where the proud Earl of the Cattynes, 
feeling his last hour draw nigh, had ordered himself 
to be borne, to die in his state and pride, as his princely 
fathers had done before him. 

There I went in, I, the rude armourer, my hands 
and face smeared with the smoke and rust of the forge, 
my rude apron upon me, with that blade in mine hands, 
and stood before them all, where they gathered about 
him as he lay there, partly propped up in his chair 
of state, dying. On one side stood the lady countess, 
her face marked by tears, holding his hand, and near 
her the Lady Margaret ; on the other, my brother 
Hugh, with a sad and stern look on his face. Near 
him also stood the priest, watchful and calm, but with 
that same ill smile which he ever wore in good or ill, 
in time of gladness or of sorrow. They all looked up 
as I entered, and the lady countess started forward. 

“ He shall not come here ! ” she cried. “ My son Hugh, 
send him away ! He hath no right here ! ” But my 
brother spake not nor stirred, only glared on me with 
a stern, dark look, and then looked on the Lady Margaret, 
and then at the pavement. But I heeded not him 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


195 


nor her, but walked up to where the earl lay gasping, 
as one who hath hard struggle to get his breath, and 
who fain would be away. As I went forward the priest 
stepped in front of me. 

“ Back ! ” he cried in stern tones. “ Thou must 
not disturb him.” 

“ But I was sent for,” I cried, “ and he is my father, 
he would speak with me,” and I cried this like one 
in anguish who demands his rights. 

“ Thou hast no right here ! ” cried the priest ; “ ’twas 
but in madness he cried, and ’twas but his own name 
he spake.” 

“ Then tell me,” I said in fierce tones, “ whose was 
the name on his lips all last night ? ” Whereat they 
all started, and the lady countess cried, “ Begone, 
thou insulter ! Wilt thou intrude thyself upon a 
dying man ? ” 

“ Nay, but I will stay ! ” I cried in agony. “ He 
is my father, I have seen but little of him in life that 
I should be driven from him in his last hour ! ” And I 
kept my place. 

“ This is hideous,” said the lady countess. “ My 
son Hugh, wilt thou see this ? ” Then she turned 
and cried, “ Ho there ! send men and hale this person 
forth ! ” 

“ Ian,” cried mine uncle, “ thou canst do little good 
and much harm here. Thou hadst better go.” 

“ Thou best ! ” I cried sternly. “ I am wanted.” 
Whereat my brother Hugh turned and spake. 


ig6 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


“ Yea,” he cried, “ thou false priest, he is wanted ! 
Let him stay ! ” 

“ Then I warn thee of the consequence,” said the 
wily priest, turning to Hugh ; “ ’tis thine own fault 
doth he stay ! ” 

“ Hugh, my son,” cried the countess, “ why wilt 
thou do this ? ” 

“ By Heaven, he is his son ! ” cried Hugh ; “ my father 
called for him, as we all heard, and he shall speak with 
him if I lose my earldom for it ! ” 

“ I thank thee for this, Hugh ! ” cried I. 

“ Nay ! ’tis but justice I would do thee,” he answered 
fiercely, and I saw that I stood alone. 

Just then the earl seemed to revive, and turned 
his eyes in a vacant manner and called a woman’s 
name. It was that of my mother. The lady countess 
started back in pride and anger. 

“ He raveth ; he is mad ! ” she cried aloud. But 
I knew better. I saw that his latest hours were his 
best ones, and that if he had any good thoughts, they 
were of my mother, as a man ever turns to the loved 
of his youth. Then he spake, “ Thou false priest, 
come hither ! Speak ! Tell me where is my son Ian ? 
She said I had a son — a son Ian ! ” Then he raised 
his voice as he said, “ Curse thee, thou false priest ! 
What wrong didst thou to me and to her ? ” Then 
his mind seemed to wander, and he cried, “ Ian, Ian, 
where art thou, my son ? ” I could stand it no longer ; 
but I knelt down at his side, and cried, “ My father, 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


197 


oh, my father ! I am Ian, thy son ! ” Whereat 
the lady countess cried, “ This must not be ! Hugh, 
my son, wilt thou stand idly by and see thy mother 
dishonoured ? ” 

Then something happened which silenced us all. 
For there is somewhat awful, as of another world, 
in the words of the dying, when they stand, as it were, 
betwixt this and the next. The earl opened his eyes, 
and looking at me said, as if just come out of a sleep, 
“ Who art thou ? ” And I answered, “ I am thy son 
Ian ! ” 

“ My son Ian ! ” he cried. “ Then I have wronged 
thee,” he said. “ Haste, haste, sir priest, get thee 
parchment to take my words,” and he tried to sit up. 
But the priest was too clever ; he answered sternly — 

“ Think thou rather of thy soul, my lord earl ; for 
thou standest but on the brink.” 

“ False priest,” cried the earl, raising himself up, 
“ wilt thou not do my will ? ” 

“ Nay, but I would exorcise thee ! ” answered the 
priest. 

“ But ’tis a wrong, a great wrong ! ” cried the earl. 

“ Ian, my son ” then he paused as if unable to speak, 

and with a great cry, as of one in mortal agony, fell 
forward and was dead. 

Thus died my father, Ian, the thirtieth earl of his 
line, a fierce man and a bold ; ever more ready to meet 
his enemy than to elude him ; who, for his many sins, 
may Heaven assoil him, was of good intention, even 


198 IAN OF THE ORCADES 

toward me whom lie had woefully wronged, and whom 
he would have righted at the last did not death and 
mine ill uncle prevent him. 

He sleeps in the chapel, in the tombs with his fathers, 
the great earls who went before him ; his name and 
arms on the stone above him. 

Seeing that he was dead, and that all was over, and 
that I was not wanted there, I hastened out, leaving 
those others who claimed more right than I to bewail 
him, and make for him fit funeral, as was the custom 
of the house. But late that even, when they had laid 
him in princely state before the altar of the chapel, 
with sombre trappings and dim tapers about his bier, 
I stole in alone and knelt down at his side, and gazed 
on the face, so still in death, and let loose my woe ; 
for great earl and proud man though he was in life, 
in death he was but mine own father. 


CHAPTER XIX 


mWO days later the earl was buried with great pomp 
in the chapel vault, amid much appearance of woe 
and the grief of his proud countess. Hugh, who was 
now earl, therefore seemed for some fatal reason to 
have assumed, with his new greatness, much of his 
father’s fierceness and harshness of temper, and those 
who had known the young heir as an open, frank, but 
imperious youth, now saw in the new earl a moody, 
dark, and singularly morose man. There is no doubt 
that my father’s action at the last had somewhat 
to do with this change in his character, for he 
must have seen that there was somewhat due to 
me as his father’s son, and at times his conscience 
must have smote him. Whatever his thoughts, I saw 
that he avoided me, and this among other things 
made me resolve that as soon as possible I would put 
my old determination into action, and leave the place 
for ever. Now that the funeral was over, I was back 
at my forge, trying to lose myself anew in my work ; 
but the words which the earl spoke and those which 
he had tried to speak bothered me much, and made 
my position difficult. I also now felt that the lady 

199 


200 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


countess knew, or suspected, all, and that the priest 
was fully aware of my true rights in the case ; but I 
also knew what price I would have to pay for his aid, 
and was determined, no matter what happened, to avoid 
him and all his plans. I could not help but pity my 
brother that I should stand betwixt him and all this 
power, which he had been reared to believe his of right ; 
I felt that if anyone could bear the loss it was myself, 
who had ever been used to shame and ill-usage, while 
for him it was a different matter. With all his coldness 
toward me, I could have gone off and left him in full 
possession of what I knew to be mine own. I knew 
that he intended to act fairly by me, but that my 
father’s action at the last had convinced him that all 
was not sure as to his own place, and that his honour 
was at variance with his pride in regard to the heirship 
of his earldom and all which it meant to him. I fancy 
that he and his lady mother must have had some strong 
and stormy scenes concerning this matter ; but this 
was all put out of mind by the arrival of Albany’s 
army, which, with pennons flying and great engines 
of war, laid bitter siege to Castle Girnigoe. 

All was now once more bustle and excitement, and 
it must be said for my brother that his only weakness 
was his headstrong nature, and that the fierce answer 
he gave to the call for surrender was worthy of the best 
bravery and noble bearing of his martial ancestors. 
So it was not long before there were arrows flying and 
bolts hurtling to and from the castle and the large and 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


201 


well-caparisoned army of besiegers. For one long 
week the siege lasted, and then it became plain to the 
leader of the royal army, a hot old noble named 
Graham, that the only chance to subdue Girnigoe 
would be by a slow and tedious process of starving us 
out, unless by some act of treachery the castle might 
be given into his hands. 

We inside were also soon aware of this our great 
strength, and it made our people the more valiant 
and insolent in their bearing ; and while there was 
careful watch on the walls by day, there was more 
feasting and carousing by night than became a castle 
in such a state of siege. I alone was anxious and 
doubtful, for I knew that our food could not last for 
ever ; and, moreover, I was dubious as to what part 
mine uncle Angus would play in the matter. That he 
would not scruple to give the castle up I did not doubt, 
the only thought in his mind being the terms which 
he might make for himself. 

Toward the end of the week, after a more than 
ordinarily vigorous assault, in which the enemy lost 
many men, and in which I, who had now become a 
skilful engineer of the great wooden cross-bolts, had 
aided in doing much destruction, a white pennon of 
truce was seen approaching the castle from the direction 
of the enemy’s camp. Now, having given the matter 
much thought, I knew, from what I had heard of affairs, 
that we could not carry the siege for ever, and that only 
the very cold weather, which is severe in our northern 


202 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


country, would drive the enemy away ; and that long 
before this our garrison would be in a state of starva- 
tion. For, since the enemy had come, they had 
scoured the country and exhausted all the supplies, 
whereas we, shut in as we were, had no opportunities 
of adding to our stores. Therefore it seemed to me 
that this was my brother’s only and last chance to 
make his peace with Albany on terms at all fitting with 
his pride. Therefore, when I saw the herald approach 
for this purpose, I put my pride in my doublet, as it 
were, and accosted my brother where he stood, silent 
and thoughtful, on the wall. 

“ Well, sir smith,” he cried haughtily, “ what 
wouldst thou have ? ” 

At this my pride nigh overcame me, but controlling 
myself I said, “ My brother, let all else be forgot be- 
twixt us save that I am thy faithful armourer, and 
would serve thee to the best of my ability with my life.” 

“ Well,” he said shortly, “ what is it thou wouldst 
say ? ” Then, in as short space as I could put it, I laid 
before him our condition, and our ill prospects, and 
the likelihood of this being his last chance of capitula- 
tion with honour. At first he was inclined to flare up, 
but as I went on he heard me with some thoughtfulness. 

“ There is much truth in thine argument, master 
smith,” he answered, “ and will be taken into my 
good consideration; saving always mine honour and 
the good name of mine house, which ” — and as he 
said this he could not but speak fiercely — “ hath always 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


203 


bred men noble in mind, and holding before all else 
their personal honour, never to surrender to any foe 
so long as life doth last. But,” he continued, “ what 
counsel wouldst thou give if the enemy doth not see 
fit to meet our terms ? ” 

“ Then I have but one word,” I answered proudly, 
“ and it is to hold Girnigoe till the last man dies.” 

“ Spoken like a man,” he answered, with more than 
his ordinary warmth. Then, as if remembering him- 
self, he added, “ But I have those to think of who are 
dearer to me than life, and who are ill-fitted to the 
long rigour of a close siege ; ” and I knew whom he 
meant, so I said naught. Then he said, with some 
hauteur, “It is not for me to hold counsel with thee, 
but mine uncle hath another plan which is more to my 
liking.” 

“ And what may that be ? ” I asked fiercely, for I 
dreaded that his counsel was toward our ruin. 

“ ’Tis not for me to say,” he answered coldly ; “ thou 
art presuming on thy place. ’Tis enough ! I will 
consult my lady mother and mine uncle Angus on thy 
plan,” and with that he turned and left me. 

I saw it all clearly now, and, even though he had 
hurt me keenly by his cold treatment, I could not but 
pity him as one dropping into the net mine uncle was 
setting for him. I could have cried out to him for his 
own sake and for all our sakes to take my counsel and 
beware the priest, but I knew it were no use. Soon 
after he went down, and I knew it was to the great 


204 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


hall or to mine uncle’s room to consult on this im- 
portant matter. I was at my wits’ end to know what 
to do, so I made a resolve to make one more effort to 
save him from himself and his tempter, even if I had 
to lay my pride in the dust and plead for my plan with 
the lady countess. So I hastened down to intercept 
her before she could go into the great hall. I knew 
where I would meet her in the courtyard coming from 
the chapel, where she spent most of her time now, 
seeing that she had so much to plead for with Heaven 
for both the dead and the living. Strange to say that 
she, since his death, had made quite a saint of the lord 
earl, and had an especial shrine reared near his tomb, 
and there spending the greater part of her days, so 
inconsistent is the nature of humanity. Going down, 
I met her, as I expected, coming from the chapel, 
her rosary in hand, closely attended by the Lady 
Margaret and her women. I went to her straight, and 
said — 

“ My lady, could I have a word with you ? ” When 
she saw who it was, her religious mood seemed to vanish, 
and she said with some pride and bitterness of voice, 
“ What wouldst with me, master smith ? ” 

“ Lady,” I cried, “ this be no time for strife or hard 

words ” I would have gone on, but she would not 

let me. 

“ Strife ? ” she said, in her scornful way — “ what 
have I to do or strive with such as thee ? ” 

“ Madam,” I answered, “ I care not how you look 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


205 

on me, but for your own sake and that of your son you 
must hear me!” 

“ How now ! ” she cried ; “ dost thou threaten ? ” 

“ Nay, lady,” I answered, “ ’tis not I who threaten, 
but Fate, dost thou not deal fairly with the coming 
ambassador. For the sake of him whom thou dost 
love, take my words to heart, and make peace with 
this man, this Albany, ere it be too late.” 

She heard me through, I thought; with much scorn 
on her face, but some consideration. Then she spake : 
“ And thou wouldst be my lord chamberlain in such 
high matters ? ’Tis but little good advice that thou 
couldst give my son. And thou, sirrah, wouldst advise 
the surrender of this castle to the Lord Albany ? ” 

“ I would, my lady,” I cried, “ could it be done with 
honour, for thy son’s sake, seeing that it will have to 
go in the end.” 

“ Yea, my bold traitor,” she answered, “ ’tis easy 
for thee to make surrender of what is not thine own.” 

Then the Lady Margaret, who stood near, said 
earnestly, “ Oh! my lady, do thou as he suggesteth. 
I feel that he hath wisdom in this matter. ’Tis for 
the best. Do it, I pray, ere it be too late.” 

At this the countess started as if stung. “ Thou 
also, girl ! ” she cried. “ Thou also against my Hugh, 
thy betrothed ! Art thou mad ? Seest thou not 
that this fellow counselleth for his own interest and 
against my son’s ? Father Angus hath the right 
plan, and the honourable one. We hold this castle, 


206 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


and we will give this same Albany a surprise he little 
suspects, ere many days.” Then she turned to me and 
said, with much fierceness, “ And as for thee, get thee 
back to thy forge, thou master hammerer ; and leave 
such high matters to thy betters.” 

“ Then, lady,” I could not forbear to say, “ you 
doom yourself by your own folly.” And I turned and 
left them, and, as she had ordered, went back to my 
hammering. 

The council of war was held, and, as I suspected, was 
more to the liking of two such haughty spirits as the 
countess and Earl Hugh, than was mine. It was carried 
out, and in the end proved, as I had foreseen, to be the 
ruin of us all. 

The immediate result of this council was that the 
bearer of the treaty was received in great state in the 
large dining-hall, where my brother Hugh, with his mother 
on one hand and the priest on the other, stood at the head 
of the hall, surrounded by armsmen and retainers in 
armour. Through a passage up the middle, betwixt 
long deep rows of armsmen, amongst whom I stood in 
my place as a humble retainer, the envoy was escorted 
to deliver his message and to receive his answer. He 
came in proud and brave, a fine-looking young squire 
who was ambitious to win his spurs, and he looked every 
inch a man to win them and to keep them. He faced 
my proud brother, who stood equally manful, with his 
fine earl’s belt and armour, looking more like a prince 
than like an ordinary noble — fair in the face, and 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


207 


omitted not a word of the dread message he brought, 
though he knew that the haughty earl could have caused 
him to be struck down where he stood. 

“ Well, sir squire,” said my brother, sitting him down 
in his chair of state, “ what is thy word with us, and why 
is it that yon host of men hath this week back laid bitter 
siege against me and mine, in this mine ancestral castle, 
and against me and my vassals in this mine earldom of 
the Cattynes ? Answer as your life shall stand on it.” 

“ My lord earl,” cried the squire, “ I am sent here as 
standing for and speaking for the most noble my Lord 
Graham of Esk, baron of that ilk, in his name, who com- 
mandeth the army of his Most High Majesty, Robert 
the Second, King of Scotland, as ordered through the 
most noble Prince Robert, Duke of Albany ; the same 
Lord Graham of Esk being sent here to greet thy late 
father Ian of the Cattynes and Orcades, and to make 
him answer for his many crimes, special being the most 
heinous murder of his Grace the Bishop of the Cattynes, 
for which crime your lord father being summoned of his 
liege Majesty to appear at Stirling, and the which he not 
having obeyed, this same Lord Graham hath been sent 
to take this his castle by storm in the King’s name.” 

“ Which thou hast not done ! ” cried the young earl 
in defiant tone. 

“ Nay, hear me, my lord earl,” cried the squire. “ My 
mission to this castle of Girnigoe is not on these matters, 
but is from my leader the most noble Graham, who saith 
thus to thee : that hearing that thy late father the earl, 


208 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


who committed these crimes, be dead and past that 
punishment meted out by earthly princes ; and hearing 
he was afflicted by some madness afore his death, which 
might palliate somewhat those same crimes, and, further, 
having no quarrel with thee, but much sympathy with a 
young lord of a great house such as thou art, he hath 
taken it upon him to ask thee to treat with him in all 
honour, and that, certain compensation being made to 
Holy Church for the death of the late bishop, he pledgeth 
his honour that thou wilt be fairly dealt with and thy 
peace be made with his liege Majesty for the deeds com- 
mitted against Church and State in this thine earldom.” 

“ Sir squire,” cried the Earl Hugh, in defiant tones, 
“ thy message meaneth that my wily cousin Albany, 
seeing he cannot smoke out his victim, would coax him 
into his hands.” 

“You wrong my message and the sender thereof, my 
lord earl,” cried the squire with some spirit. 

“ Nay,” cried Hugh, “ but I cast thy pretended mercy 
back into thy teeth, thou false messenger ; and tell my 
cousin Albany that he may have me at his feet, doth he 
come and catch me.” 

“ Nay then, my lord earl,” cried the outraged squire, 
“ I have but this to say : thou hast lost thine earldom 
and thy life by thine own folly. My message to thee 
now is that thine earldom is confiscated, and the penalty 
death. Such is the fiat of thy liege lord and majesty 
the King.” So saying, he made a low obeisance to 
the lady countess and passed out. And I knew that, 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


209 


whatever scheme my brother had as he stood there in all 
his splendour and pride, he had lost his last chance of 
keeping his power and allegiance to the crown of 
Scotland. 

He waited until the squire had gone out, then he said, 
“We will send him another answer he little suspects ere 
many hours are over.” 


14 


CHAPTER XX 


M Y uncle’s plan to surprise the besiegers soon became 
known throughout the castle, when it was 
announced that a sudden sortie was to be made that 
night on the camp of the other army, who, not suspecting 
so much temerity on the part of the besieged, would be 
taken completely by surprise. 

This plan met with much approval, as the heavy loss 
on the part of the besiegers and the little damage done 
to the castle had made our people over- confident and 
rash in their seeming safety. Also the earl’s defiant 
answer to the squire, and his proud treatment of him, 
had raised the spirits of all his retainers. 

But down in my heart I feared treachery on the part 
of my wily uncle ; I had suspicions that he had some 
secret communication with the enemy, and it only 
needed a traitor to give them warning of our coming to 
turn this reprisal of ours into a signal defeat. That 
such was going to happen I was more than sure, else 
why had mine priestly uncle given such advice as he 
had done ? I determined to watch him ; but this was 
a difficult matter, considering that I was supposed to 
be deeply engaged in my vocation as castle smith, which 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


211 


gave me all I could do to fulfil tlie demands upon my 
skill. That he had any communication with the enemy 
by way of sea I could not believe, as I had removed his 
only mode of access from that direction ; but it was hard 
to say whether he had not some means yet unknown 
to me for secret treachery, so deep were his resources, 
as the event proved. 

Beyond this there was naught I could do, for I had 
exceeded my sense of pride already in making appeals, 
only to meet rebuff and insult. So incensed was I at 
times, that had it not been for a feeling of honour I would 
have been half inclined to take mine accusers at their 
word, and try to make secret terms for my rights out of 
this dismal ruin which was to ensue. But such feelings 
were only passing, and I can say sincerely that my 
uppermost desire during all that time was to save my 
foolish brother from his own rash self, and from his 
devilish uncle, who was determined to bring about his 
destruction. 

Toward the fall of night a council of war was held by 
the earl, to which a few of the principal armsmen, the 
priest, and the lady countess were called, and I was 
surprised by also receiving a command to be present. 
Remembering the late contemptuous refusal to consider 
my advice, I could not but view with suspicion this new 
turn of affairs. What followed proved my surmisals 
to be correct. AH were in good heart as to the favour- 
able results, and even mine uncle was in high spirits for 
one usually so taciturn, but this on his part was likely 


212 IAN OF THE ORCADES 

to be a blind to deceive others as to his real objects and 
desires. 

The principal discussion turned on the question of 
who should lead the sortie. The countess was anxious 
that Hugh should remain in the castle, and that the 
warder or castle chamberlain should have the honour 
of leading the attack. I was at first surprised to notice 
that the priest stood with her in this matter, not so 
ardently as she argued it, but sufficiently to show that 
it was agreeable with his counsels. I soon saw, however, 
that the priest did this on purpose, knowing my brother 
so well as to be sure that he would sooner lose his earl- 
dom than forego leading his followers in person on 
such an adventure, and, furthermore, that any kind of 
opposition would only determine him the more strongly 
to have his way. 

“Well, go if thou wilt,” cried the priest, “ but it had 
pleased me better that thou shouldst have stayed, and 
let a less worthy person lead this attack — even thine 
own uncle, had he but power and vocation to handle 
a sword in so masterful a way as doth our brave master 
armourer yonder ; ” and he looked at me with a grim 
smile. 

“ How now ! ” cried Hugh, “ and thou wouldst snatch 
from me this honour ? Nay, if any gain glory by this, 
’tis I, and to me shall fall the danger, though I fear 
none.” Then the countess spoke, in some tone of 
anxiety — 

“ Sir priest,” she said, “ tell me truly, hast thou any 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


213 

misgiving for my lord’s safety doth he fare on this 
expedition ? ” 

“ Madam,” returned the wily priest, “ we are all in 
the hand of Heaven, yet for my part I cannot but admire 
my brave nephew for his martial courage and manly 
decision.” And I saw as he spoke that he cleverly 
managed to keep himself a loophole out of which td 
escape, no matter what the end might be. Then I 
spake up. 

“ My lord earl,” I cried, “ if thou art to lead us in 
person, let me be at thy side to defend thee.” 

1 “ Nay,” cried the countess, “ it shall not be ! ” Then 
my brother turned to me and said sneeringly — 

“ Master armourer, we have commanded thee to this 
conference not for any value of thy advice that thou 
wouldst give us, but because we have determined upon 
a special duty for thee to perform. We are not lacking 
in remembrance of our last sortie from this castle, and 
of the valued part thou didst play therein. But thou 
art a not indifferent defender of fair damsels, if no 
fighter ; therefore,” he continued, “ it is our will that 
you stay here with a few choice men to guard these 
walls while we go forth to battle.” 

Now it doubly angered me that I should be insulted 
and left out in this way from the real danger, if there 
were to be any, and that my brother should see fit to 
hold in contempt mine attitude during the last fight at 
the bishop’s castle. In it all I could see plainly the work 
of mine uncle, and I felt it bitterly that my brother in 


214 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


his sneers at my lack of desire to fight had impugned my 
manhood. 

However, it was not my part to demur, but rather 
to do that which had been allotted to me, so I gave a 
reluctant acceptance to this, in a sense, galling office. 
But I found out that there was much more behind this 
mine appointment as guardian of the castle, and which 
discovered to me a blacker deviltry in mine evil uncle’s 
schemes than I had yet deemed possible. But of this 
I will speak in its place. 

It was deepest night, at that hour when camps of 
war, being in safety and in no expectation of an 
enemy, are wont to lay down in security, not sleeping 
on their arms, to confident repose, when our midnight 
attack sallied forth from the walls of Castle Girnigoe. 
As it was my place to marshal them out and see the 
gates well closed and drawbridge lifted behind them, I 
had good chance to watch their departure. They were 
a bolder, better caparisoned, and more determinedly 
silent troop than that which had issued forth on the 
last occasion under the old earl. And they had reason 
to be, for they were not now going to surprise a church 
garrison, asleep in its own self-confidence, but a well- 
appointed and moderately watchful army. It is true 
that that army was supposed to be unsuspicious of their 
coming, and, as they had learned by spies sent out, 
to be quite off their guard, and liable to be easily 
surrounded and annihilated, yet even in this case they 
were likely to meet with a stern and bitter resistance 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


215 

from men well trained and experienced in the arts of 
war. 

Therefore, as they issued forth with but little doubt 
of their success, and a feeling of honour in going to the 
attack, I must own that it gave me a galling sense of 
the position I occupied, as of one only fit to guard 
closed gates, while those considered my betters went 
forth to open attack. But I had even more to endure. 
As the horsemen and men-at-arms filed out, grim and 
silent in their war accoutrements, my brother Hugh 
rode out into the courtyard, with plumed helmet and 
belted sword ; and I doubt if I ever saw him look so 
proud and soldierly as he did at that time, when he 
seemed to feel his position as the keeper of his great 
house and the leader of a brave following of valiant men. 
Just then he stayed his steed opposite to where I stood, 
and from the chapel where she had been praying came 
forth the countess, followed by the Lady Margaret. 

“ My son, oh ! my son ! ” she cried, “ if thou shouldst 
fall ? ” 

“ Fear not for me, mother,” he answered in his proud 
way. “ Rather pray thee for our enemies that their 
humiliation be not too great, for they have need of pity 
this coming night.” And he leaned over in a stately 
manner and kissed her upturned face. 

“ And thou, my lady,” cried he in sad tones to the 
Lady Margaret, “ wilt thou not also come and give me 
God-speed ? ” 

At this she started back as if doubtful with herself, 


2l6 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


which the more surprised me ; then she went forward, 
and parting her closed veil, showing her sweet face pale 
and subdued in the moonlight, so that my heart seemed 
to stop in its beating at sight of it, held it up to receive 
his parting salutation. It was all over in a moment, 
but my hand, which clenched the hilt of my sword, 
gripped it so strongly that the blood came out from my 
fingers’ ends. Then he straightened up, and speaking 
to me, said — 

“ Master warder, for this night I leave thee in charge 
of these ladies and this castle. See that thy charge is 
well rendered as thou valuest thy life,” and his voice 
rang out harshly and sternly on the night. 

“ My lord earl,” I cried, “ such as I am care little for 
their lives ; but I have one thing left me, and that is 
mine honour. I promise thee that if my charge is not 
kept in truth as thou requirest, I will render that life up 
in their defence or quickly forfeit it at your disposal.” 

“ See that you keep it,” he cried. “ Raise the gate,” 
he commanded to the keeper, and as the gate went up 
he rode out, and I never saw him again until we had 
bitter reason to rue that mad night and its ill conse- 
quences. After him rode his squires and chosen men. 
Then the gate went down, the bridge up, and I was for 
the first time master of Girnigoe. 

But if I had been one disposed to be proud of this 
mine equivocal position, which I was not, for I was too 
full of a sense of coming ill to think of aught else save my 
bare duty as seneschal, I was soon to be reminded that 



Page 216. 


Ian of the Orcades 




IAN OF THE ORCADES 


217 


if Girnigoe had lost its master it still had a mistress, and 
one who in the most cruel and tyrannical manner made 
herself felt. 

“ Master armourer,” she said, coming forward, 
“ we are but ill provided with a garrison. Thou 
knowest my son had no thought of our danger in this 
kindly protection of high bastions and stout walls, or he 
had left us better captained and more sturdily followed,” 
and she looked scornfully at myself and the few men-at- 
arms who stood about me. “ But,” she continued, 
“ we must e’en make the best of what we have. Now 
tell me straight, sirrah, hast thou a knowledge of thy 
duty ? ” 

Now I liked not this manner of her scorning my 
wardership, so I answered her sternly, “ Lady, thou 
must know, or if thou dost not thou shouldst know, 
that this position of mine is none of mine own seeldng. 
It grieves me most ill that I am not out among those who 
have perchance gone to graver dangers than they think 
of ; but such as it is, I with my poor experience will do 
my best to keep these walls, though my mind misgives 
me that we even here are in greater danger than thou 
or other thinkest.” 

“ Danger ! ” she answered. “ What mean you ? 
Speak, sirrah ! ” 

“ I may not speak, madam,” I answered, “ nor could 
I tell thee from whence it may reach us ; but something 
teacheth me that we are in much jeopardy all the same.” 

“ A mere coward’s fancy,” she answered, with some 


218 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


scorn. “ A pretty warder, thou, to be left to such a 
charge.” 

“ Nay, madam,” I answered, “ but as brave as you 
like. Yet with your leave I will go my rounds and see 
that all is in safety ; ” and so saying I left her. 

Having examined all the weak parts of our defences, 
and having placed sentinels where we could soonest be 
apprised of the approach of danger, I placed myself on 
an eminence where I could best view the coming attack 
which our troops were about to make on the enemy’s 
camp. I did this, and I watched the more eagerly, for 
I was full confident that we in our turn were to have a 
surprise, and that my poor brother in his pride and folly 
had gone out into the meshes of a net which had been 
laid for him. If I had had no other reason for believing 
this, I had read it all as clearly as I ever read page of 
book in the sinister smile on the priest’s face as he last 
gazed on my brother, ere we closed on him the gates 
a short time since. Now my mind was in a dread 
quandary, for sure as I was of the coming evil, the most 
horrible part of it all was that I had no suspicions from 
which quarter it might first strike us ; but I resolved to 
wait and watch the event and abide the issue, which I 
knew could not be long in coming. 

When our sortie had disappeared from out of our 
walls into the night, they were lost to us in the dark as 
completely as if the wolfish night had opened its 
voracious jaws and swallowed them up horse and foot. 
It had been my brother’s aim to steal around on to the 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


219 


other side of the enemy’s camp, and so surprise and 
surround them, making the attack complete on all 
sides. 

It seemed fully the space of an hour, as we count, 
after the gates had closed on our outgoing force, when 
there rose on the night air a loud challenging and 
confusing shout ; and soon was heard the trample 
of horse, the clang of arms, the cries of the wounded, 
and the shout of battle, as the clash of the onset 
met in the distant gloom ; and it was not long 
before those of us in the castle, who understood such 
matters, were aware that there was no common battle 
raging in our vicinity. How it was going and which 
side held the advantage we could not see, but the most 
valiant and hopeful of us could not but know that it 
was otherwise than the result of a perfect surprise. 

“ ’Tis a strange matter,” said an old armsman to 
me as we stood together. “ These men fight not as one 
sudden and rude awakened. Methinks it smelleth of 
treachery.” 

“ ’Tis our duty to do our lord’s will here, master 
armsman,” I said, “ and not think us on other matters.” 
But this idea that we had been trapped now spread 
throughout the castle, and the countess in much trepida- 
tion came up to where I was on the outer wall. 

“ What meaneth this ? ” she cried to the priest, who 
had followed her up. 

“ It meaneth, madam,” he answered, “ that thy son 
hath his work cut out for him, but that he doeth it 


220 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


bravely.” Yet I could not but see by the lantern’s 
light that there was a strange expectant air about him, 
as though he looked for somewhat more which was 
about to happen. I stood there trying to discover in 
my mind where or what would be the next manner of 
attack, when all of a sudden I cried to myself that I 
were a stupid fool, and, as my lady had said, utterly 
unfit to guard such a place ; for it came over me all of 
a rush, with a great beating of my heart, that in my 
worry and trouble I had, for the time being, forgotten 
all about the passage underneath that led up from the 
sea. 

To think now was to act, so fearing I was too late, I 
called to me a sturdy armsman, and, taking him aside, 
said to him, “ Mowat, go you down into that passage 
leading to my room and that of the Wizard Tower, and 
stand you guard with your blade ; and the first man 
that you see approach that way, kill him. Then bring 
me word.” He at first stared at me, as though he 
thought I were mad. Then he said, “ Thou art 
master warder here and I must obey. But were it not 
better that I stay here, or help those who guard the 
gate, than go where thou sendest me, which seemeth 
but a fool’s errand ? ” Now this was a long speech 
for such a man, and an impudent one, and, as I knew, 
came partly from the common contempt of my position, 
and also from the man’s sense of the ridiculousness of my 
order. But I had no time to parley with such a man. 
Our danger was too imminent. 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


221 


“ Go ! ” I cried, “ or I will cleave thee where thou 
standest ! ” And my argument was the best I could 
have used, for he went without hesitation, as my look 
frightened him and brought to his mind the manner 
in which I had finished his fellow-armsman. Mine 
only fear now was that my suspicion of this danger had 
come too late, and I would liked to have gone down in 
person and examined my room and that of the priest, 
but I dared not leave the walls where iny duty kept me, 
unless I was sure that there lay great peril below. But 
the trouble came even sooner than I expected. I had 
barely turned from giving this order, which I had done 
aside, so that mine uncle might not suspect, when we 
heard a great thundering as of horses’ feet, and a voice 
came from below demanding entrance at the castle 
gates. 

“ In whose name,” I cried, “ dost thou demand 
entrance here ? ” 

“ In the name of the King, the Duke of Albany, and 
the Lord of Esk,” came the answer. “ And dost thou 
not open up we will batter our way in.” 

“ No one entereth here this night save in the name 
of the Earl of the Cattynes,” I said. 

“ Then have at you,” and a shower of arrows fell 
about us, one wounding an armsman, who stood near 
me, in the arm. 

“ Get the great bolt trained on them,” I cried. And 
we strove to point it in their direction, but they had 
come too near, and it was impossible to aim it so low, 


222 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


covered as they were by the angle of the castle wall. 
So all we could do was to keep out of reach of their 
arrows and defy them, while the fight in the distance 
continued as fiercely as ever. 

Things now looked very doubtful to me, though to 
those about me we seemed in a fairly safe position were 
only the earl and his party back safe under cover, but 
to my mind matters never looked worse. The countess 
stood with her face white in the dim light, and close 
beside her the Lady Margaret holding the former’s hand 
in her own, as if commiserating with her in her fear and 
grief, and my heart could not help but hold a deep 
sorrow for them, who were thus suffering so because of 
the young earl out there in the grim night, where he had 
gone perchance to his death. I had stood thus watching 
them and hearkening to the still fiercely contested, 
distant battle, and keeping an eye on the hostile party 
who still hovered under the outside wall near the gates, 
as though expecting some mode of entrance, when on a 
sudden there came a great yell from the centre of the 
castle, and ere it had died out, the man Mowat came 
staggering up the stairs with a white face and a wounded 
arm, crying, “ Master, we be lost ! We be lost ! Men 
be coming up at us out of the sea ! ” The countess 
let a cry of horror, and the Lady Margaret went pale 
and clung to the parapet. But I turned and cried to 
the priest, “ Thou devil, art thou a man, guard these on 
thy life ! ” and calling to me six of my men with swords 
to follow me, seized me a lantern, and hastening down 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


223 


into the castle, made for the corridor leading to the 
tower. I lost no time, hoping that I might be able to 
close the priest’s trap or mine own. But I was too 
late, for just as I opened the door a man stepped out, 
and I saw in the light of the lantern we carried that 
the room was full of armed men, with more coming up. 
I had but a moment to decide ; but for once I did the 
right thing. Knocking the man down, I slammed the 
door to, and ran back to where my men were who had 
followed me. 

“ Here, my brave fellows,” I cried, “ if ever you 
fought for the lord of Girnigoe, now is your time ! 
Stand with me here, and as this passage is narrow, 
we may chance be able to keep it till our lord arrives, 
or, if not, until we are dead men.” But I saw by their 
faces that the men were confused and startled, as 
though they had among themselves been contending on 
some dread matter. “ Be these men ? ” asked one of 
them ; “be they mortal, master ? We be not afeard 
to fight men, but to contend with wild wizard-folk, or 
seamen, it seemeth not canny.” 

“ Fools ! ” I cried, “do ye not see that there hath 
been treachery, and that these are the Lord Graham’s 
men brought round by sea, and let in by some secret 
passage ? Fight if ever you fought, and the first who 
wavers will die by mine own hand ! ” I said this in an 
agony of desperation, for I saw the whole cruelty of the 
damned priest’s trap now, or thought I did, for there 
was worse to come of it for me, as I shall show. 


224 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


We liad not long to wait, each of us huddled there 
with blade in hand, and face drawn and expectant, in 
the gloom of that lonely passage, when we heard them 
approaching ; for this was the only way by which they 
could get up into the castle, and to do so they would 
first have to cut us down. 

As they came near in the dark, holding their lanterns, 
with their swords drawn, their leader, who was the 
same young squire who had brought the message that 
day, stopped and cried to us to give up the passage and 
surrender on our lives, promising that we would be 
protected, and this, he said, in the name of the King, 
Albany, and the Lord Esk. 

“ And what if we will not ? ” I cried, facing them as 
they crowded before me. 

“ Why, then,” he answered, “ we must cut thee down ; 
but ye are fools, seeing ye are so few and we so many.” 

“ Many or few,” I cried, “ in the name of the Earl 
of the Cattynes, if a man pass here he shall die ! ” At 
that he made a pass at me with his sword, but I struck 
it from his hand with my great blade, and the rest who 
followed at his back covered him as he fell. I knew 
not much more for some time, save that I swung my 
blade and that those who got past me were met by my 
good fellows behind. There was much cursing and 
hammering of blades, and many on both sides went 
down. But this could not go on for ever. Of a sudden 
my foot slipped in a pool of blood, where a poor fellow 
lay dying ; and ere I recovered I received a stroke on 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 225 

mine arm, and was down, and the fight was over in 
a moment. 

“ Harm him not ! ’’cried the young squire, who had 
recovered himself from his late mishap ; “ but secure 
him and bring him up. He is a fool, but a brave one.” 
Then will or nil I had to follow where they went on. 

“ Stay, sir squire ! ” I cried. “ There are ladies up 
there.” 

“ They shall be treated with all courtesy,” he an- 
swered. “ But are there others ? ” 

“ Nay,” I cried, “ we are the garrison.” And he 
looked at me and smiled with a grim humour, as with 
but a sullen look I followed him up. 


i5 


CHAPTER XXI 


HEN I arrived at the great hall where they took 



* " me, we found that the lady countess had made 
her stand there, as was the custom of the earls to 
receive strangers on all occasions of state. There we 
found her, fierce and proud, standing beside the chair 
of state. At one side of her was the Lady Margaret 
and the countess’s women, who shrank as if in terror 
of what might yet come, for on the occasion of the sacking 
of castles all sorts of horrors have happened. But the 
lady countess stood as firmly and proudly as if, instead 
of awaiting her enemies, she was to receive some guest. 
Her terrible anxiety for her son, which I knew well 
was filling her breast with anguish, was hidden as if 
under a presence of marble, and for all her cruelty to 
me, and her proud scorn, I could not but admire this 
carriage of hers that surpassed the courage of most men 
in that her most terrible hour. Even the young squire 
who preceded me was daunted by her appearance, as, more 
like an avenging demon or an angry queen, than a lone 
woman trapped in her own hall, she demanded fiercely — 


“ Who are ye who dare thus intrude on the sanctity 
of Castle Girnigoe ? ” 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


227 


“ Madam,” said the young squire, when he had 
somewhat remembered his duty and the strength of his 
position, which her undaunted presence had caused him 
for the moment to forget, “ we are here in the name of 
the King, the great Albany, and the Lord of Esk, to 
receive the body of the Earl of the Cattynes, dead or 
alive, and take him to Stirling, there to await the 
King’s pleasure.” 

“ Thou shalt not ! ” she cried. “ Rather,” she con- 
tinued majestically, “ wilt thou rue it well that thou 
hast, by whatever treachery, entered here ; for when 
my son the earl returns, which he will shortly, he will 
hang thee to the castle wall for thus insulting my 
person and this castle by thy presence.” As she con- 
tinued speaking the soldiers of Albany crowded into 
the hall, showing in such large and formidable numbers 
that I wondered at her audacity of speech, which, for 
all its folly, I could not but admire. My mind was now 
dwelling upon one matter, and that was how to warn 
the earl ere he returned, were he not already captured ; 
and even though my arm was sore, and I was weak from 
loss of blood, I tried in the stir of the moment to leave 
the hall unnoticed, but the young squire, who perceived 
me, said sternly — 

“ Move you not, sirrah ! ” Then, turning to the 
countess, he spake — 

“ Madam, I respect thy rank and sex, but thy threats 
are useless. See these men who are in possession of 
this castle. We have all its gates in our hands, and 


228 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


thy son, the earl, is even now on his way in quick 
retreat hither.” 

“ Dread Heaven ! ” she cried. “ My son ! my son ! ” 

“ Thou seest that resistance is useless, madam,” 
continued the squire. “ He also will soon be our 
prisoner ; but I have orders to say that none in this 
castle will be molested. Our strict commands are 
for the earl alone.” 

“ Let me go to him ! Let me pass ! ” she cried in 
a moment of agony. 

“ Nay, madam,” said the squire, with much respect, 
but firmness, “ I must detain you.” Then he cried 
to his officers, “ See that none leave the hall.” 

Then it was wonderful to see her recover her cold 
pride, as though ashamed of her momentary emotion. 
“ Let Heaven’s will be done,” she said, “ for I defy the 
King, as my son will do when he doth come.” Not a 
word more did she say, except in a fine scorn. 

“ A nice trap in which to catch an earl, my brave 
squire. Did you but meet him in the open, it were 
otherwise this would end.” Then she sat down and 
moved not, but seemed like some cold lady of marble, 
as we all stood in that great hall awaiting the return 
of the Master of Girnigoe. And a grim welcome it 
was for my brave, generous brother, and as cruel a 
trap as ever sprung on a bold and unsuspecting man. 

I could not help moving up to where mine uncle 
stood, looking on as careless as if but an indifferent 
spectator of a scene in which he had no interest. 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


229 


“ Well, thou villain ! ” I sneered at him in his ear, 
“ thou hast worked thy will at last.” But he never 
stirred as much as a finger or eyelash. Then he looked 
me over with a sort of fine contempt. 

“ Oho ! ” he cried, as if knowing me for the first time, 
“ ’tis the brave master armourer and faithful warder.” 

“ Thou fiendish plotter,” I answered, “ canst thou 
work ill so fight against thine own and wear such mirth ? 
Beware, or I will tell my tale of what I know ! ” I 
cried. 

“Not as regards thyself, my fellow-plotter,” he 
answered. 

“ Thy fellow-plotter ? What mean you ? ” I said, 
for his words hit me like a slap in the face. 

“ Art thou so deep, and yet not know that I can 
see through all thy protestations ? ” he answered. 
“ Oh, thou prince of mummers, hath I not wit to see 
that under all thy pretence thou wert with me all the 
time.” 

“ Thou darest accuse me of that ? ” I answered. 
“ By Heaven, mine uncle, this is too much that thou 
shouldst belie me in such a matter ! I will make this 
matter open. I will spoil thy game now, even though 
I be hanged for it.” And I stepped forward to speak, 
when he pulled me back. 

“ Fool ! ” he whispered, “ thou goest to thine own 
destruction. Who would believe you ’twixt us ? 
Hearken to me ; thou knewest of yon place below as 
well as I. Who was it but thee who stole the boat ? 


230 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


Thou it was who didst aid the prisoner to escape.” 
Here I started at his words. 

“ Ha ! Thou understandest,” he went on. “ Then 
which of us dost thou think would be suspected of this 
treachery didst thou speak out ? I am an old retainer 
of this family, devoted to the Church, retired from the 
world and its ambitions, treated in this castle with all 
honour and confidence. Now how is it with thee ? 
Thou art an outcast, a rival brother of the earl, re- 
ceiving but contempt and ill words from all here ; and 
a rival not only to thy brother in his earldom, but 
also,” he hissed, “ in his love.” 

At this I started from him as though he were a snake 
that had stung me. “ Thou art no man, but a fiend, 
an incarnate fiend ! ” I cried. But he only laughed. 
“ Now, my brave accuser, stand an thou darest ! ” 
he challenged. “ Tell thy brave tale, and I will tell 
mine ! ” 

Bad as I thought matters to be, this was worse than 
I could ever have imagined. “ Thou devil,” I answered, 
4 4 thou hast the best of me, as thou ever hast had, and 
of all in this house ; but remember, I will get the better 
of thee yet.” But he only laughed once more in my 
face ; so I left him, and moved back to my former 
place. For I could not stand in his sight and not desire 
to kill him — an awful feeling when he was of mine own 
kin and blood ; but something now took place which 
made me forget even this ill man and his desperate 
schemes, which was the coming home of my brother. 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


231 


i*' It seemed, as we learned afterward, that he found so 
soon as he opened the attack that he had been trapped 
and cheated. Though the enemy pretended to be at 
rest, they were close at watch for attack at all points ; 
and were even aware of the earl’s proposed point of 
assault ; so that in the end, instead of his having them 
at disadvantage, they held him at bay by reason of the 
surprise he had got in place of the surprise he had hoped 
to give them. But he was valiant, this brother of mine, 
and not easily daunted, and his courage fired his fol- 
lowers, who did not allow their disappointment to affect 
their boldness, though they knew, now their eyes were 
opened, that they fought in desperate case. They had 
thus contended valiantly for some time, when, discover- 
ing that their enemy was stronger in numbers and better 
placed, even my brother, whose reckless courage would 
have braved everything, began to see that they had 
gained naught by this sortie, and that it were best to 
retreat gradually and not hurriedly ; but as men who, 
having come out to hit hard, were minded to go back 
tardily, and give blow for blow as they went. But they 
soon found that this was no easy task, for their very 
scheme of attacking the enemy from the other side, away 
from the castle, now placed the foe betwixt them and 
their sole place of refuge. Some leaders on seeing this 
would have despaired. But this only made the earl 
more reckless, and he decided to make an effort to cut 
his way through, instead of waiting to get around. The 
wary Graham, however, who preferred to take him alive, 


232 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


and who knew he had him at all sides, let him force his 
way, natheless, so that in time he got clear with some 
of his followers, and found himself alone in the dark at 
the front of his own castle gates. Here, seeing no light, 
but finding the drawbridge as had been arranged by the 
foe, a cooler and more crafty man would have smelled 
treachery ; but not so the young earl. Bidding his few 
men follow, he crossed the bridge, where, finding the 
courtyard also deserted and dark, he hailed the garrison. 
Getting no answer, even he felt that it were somewhat 
ominous ; but dismounting and leaving his horse in care 
of his squire, he went, sword in hand, and came in and 
up into the castle, until he stood at the door of the great 
dining-hall, and so met his fate. 

When he looked in at us all, and saw the castle, the 
hold of his fathers, in the possession of his armed foes, 
and his proud lady mother standing there so white and 
desolate, for a moment his heart sank within him. He 
started and his face went ashen. But it was only for 
a moment. He was a St. Clair of the Isles, of a brave 
race, who never flinched at pain or death, and met even 
disgrace and all but dishonour with a proud face. So 
he stood for a second as it were, taking it all in, and then 
walked up proudly and calmly along the armed lines of 
his grim, silent enemies and his prisoned retainers ; and 
coming to where his mother sat, knelt at her feet and 
took her hand. 

“ Mother,” he said, “ oh, my lady mother ! Could 
I have but spared thee this ! ” And when I saw him do 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


233 


this so nobly and calmly, as if he were entering a peaceful 
state drawing-room, I forgot all he had done of ill to me, 
and I loved him and was proud of him as my brother 
and as a man. 

Then he rose from his knees, and turned to my uncle, 
all of his father’s look at this most dread moment flaming 
in his face as he said — 

“ Mine eyes are opened, my damned uncle. I owe all 
of this to thee ! ” and with his iron glove struck him hard 
in the face. It was the one wrong, unknightly deed he 
did ; but I could not blame him, knowing as he knew, 
and as I had always known, the villainy that the other 
had worked against our house. But mine uncle did not 
speak or stir, only there came over his face a more sinister 
smile, if that could be possible, than I had ever seen it 
wear, and as he regarded his nephew I knew that naught 
but my brother’s death would now appease him. The 
lady countess alone started and cried, “ Hugh, my son ! 
What hast thou done ? ” 

“ Ask him ! ” cried my brother, “ and let him tell thee 
what he hath done ! ” Then he turned to the young 
squire, who had stood silent all this while, and handing 
him his sword, said — 

“ Sir squire, you are mine enforced guest. I bid thee 
good e’en, and place myself in thy hands. I pray but 
one thing of you, if a fallen man can ask aught, the 
safety and care of my lady mother here, and this lady, 
who was to have been my bride,” and he bowed to her 
with lordly look. 


234 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


“ My lord earl,” answered the squire, who, like all of 
us, was struck by the earl’s quiet and fine manner of 
taking his capture, and pitied him in his heart, “ there 
will naught be done to thy lady mother, nor to this 
lady, nor to this castle, my commission being to 
secure your person alone. And it grieves me to tell 
you that you must come with me to the Lord 
Graham of Esk, to be his prisoner to the King at 
Stirling.” 

“Nay, sir ! ” cried the countess, in great agony ; 
“ then he is doomed ! They will slay him ! Oh, my 
son, my son ! why didst thou leave the castle ? ” Then 
for the first time in my knowledge of her did this strong 
woman seem to totter and fall ; but the earl caught her 
in his arms, and the Lady Margaret wiped her bps, and 
she, after a space, came to. Then staggering to her feet, 
she cried, “ My son ! 0 God ! my son ! Where is 
my son ? ” But during her swoon he had kissed her for 
the last time and was gone. 

Next day at sunrise the army left the castle, and with 
it the young earl went a prisoner. Ere he left the gates 
I tried to get speech with him, for my heart was full, 
and I desired that he should be at one with me ere he 
departed ; for my mind was sore with a dread thought 
that he would never come ‘back alive. I knew that, 
added to the many wrongs and ills that the cruel Albany 
had against him, the blow on the priest’s face was the 
seal of his death sentence. I came up beside his horse, 
whereon he sat pale and silent, betwixt two armsmen 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


235 

who rode on either side ; and I said, with some sort of 
agony in my voice — 

“ Hugh, my brother, have ye no farewell for thy 
brother Ian ? ” But he looked full ahead, as though 
he saw me not, and I then knew that he deemed me a 
party to the priest’s treachery ; for now, when too late, 
he saw I had wrongs against him, and judged me by 
those wrongs. “ Hugh,” I cried again, “ doubt me not ; 
my heart is woe for thee ! ” Then he turned and looked 
at me, and there was a great scorn in his eyes as he said — 

“ Words are little use in my case ; ’tis deeds that 
speak ! ” 

“ Hugh,” I answered in my agony, “ my brother, 
believe me true ! I have ever been leal to thee through 
it all.” 

“ Then show it to them,” he cried. “ For me it is 
too late ; show it to them, be true to her, and to her.” 
Then he rode out proud and brave, as though he rode to 
some hunting or a field of victory rather than to his 
death. But his words smote me hard, for I knew that 
he meant by “ her ” and “ her ” his lady mother and 
that other one, so dear to us both ; and his “her” and 
“ her ” sounded in my heart many a day after. 


CHAPTER XXII 


T HAT was but a sad and woeful time for those of 
us left in Castle Girnigoe, which followed on 
the departure of the Earl Hugh to meet his death. 
There were but few of us left in the castle, as the most 
of the retainers were either dispersed to their homes 
or had gone themselves out of timidity, not caring to 
be found too close to a house trembling on the verge 
to a fall. Not that they were not true to their lord’s 
family, for they would, as they had shown before, have 
shed their blood and have given of their substance 
so long as the earl was in need of their aid. But so 
soon as the case had gone out of their hands, as it were, 
they thought it the more prudent to await the issue of 
the doom that threatened Girnigoe as simple vassals 
rather than as armed retainers of a ruined house. As 
there was no immediate danger from any quarter, 
my duty as warder, which office still remained with 
me by virtue of the earl’s last words, and because none 
other cared to usurp my place, was on the whole but a 
slight one. My duties were to see that the gate was 
closed and the drawbridge up each night and morn ; 
and also to see that all was lawful and quiet about the 

236 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


237 


place, all of which took but little of my time. For 
this reason I had much leisure to study the conditions 
of our ruined fortunes. By the few retainers left little 
was said in my presence, but what little I heard gave 
me less hope for the future of my house. That the 
earl would be executed, and the earldom, with its feoffs 
and holds, would be handed over to some other lord, 
perchance he of Esk, was a commonly accepted belief 
throughout the castle. Now, apart from my sorrow 
and fear for Hugh, this apparent ruin and confiscation 
of the earldom was but ill news to me, who knew, as I 
did, that I wa3 without doubt the rightful owner as 
eldest son and heir of my father ; and that as the crimes 
committed, for which punishment was enforced, were 
none of mine, it would be, therefore, both a great wrong 
and an illegal matter on the part of the King, or others, 
to sequester titles and estates from their proper possessor 
and inheritor without just cause. This I came to know 
afterward. But even the slightest knowledge I had, 
or suspected at the time, availed me not, as I could not, 
had I proved my title, which I was unable to do, have 
had the heart to oust my brother. I was also aware 
that he would rather die as he was, Earl of the Cattynes, 
than accept his life at the expense of such degradation. 
This, then, was my position and state of affairs at this 
time. 

The lady countess I had not seen since the night 
of the earl’s departure, and did not meet her for some 
time after. She had kept to her rooms at first in 


238 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


great grief and illness of body, bewailing her son as 
dead and her house as ended. Here she stayed, 
attended by the Lady Margaret, for she would see no 
one else ; nor could she at first be prevailed upon to 
go even to the chapel, declaring that Heaven in its 
vengeance had doomed her house, and that the curse 
was so great as to make it useless to pray any more. 
After a time she gradually became more calm, and 
recovered some of her old pride and temper. Knowing 
this, and feeling a sense of insecurity in my temporary 
position as ruler of the castle, I tried to get a message 
to her, but I was told that at mere mention of my 
name she went into a violent rage, cursing me and 
laying on my head most of the tribulation of her 
house. 

“ What right hath such as he to be here,” she cried, 
“ when my son — my son — is departed hence ? Chamber- 
lain ! I will have none of him ! Better have a spit 
dog fill the place than such as he ! ” 

So she received my message, and I had to go on 
and hold my patience until she should see fit either 
to endure my guardianship or cut me off. Meanwhile, 
I tried to get matters into some sort of shape for the 
coming bitter season, which is a trying one in our 
northern country of bleak mountains and wild, madden- 
ing sea. Much provision and fuel had to be collected 
to provide for the long months that were ahead, and 
with our reduced retainers and scattered vassals, who 
were not too ready to respond to any tax at so perilous 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


239 


and uncertain a time, sucli provision were a difficult 
matter to collect. Meanwhile, the priest, the cause 
of all this dire trouble, kept himself to his ill-tower, 
and what he busied himself about I neither knew nor 
cared, though I had suspicion that it was not for any 
good to the poor young earl. However, as warder 
of our hold, it was in my power and became my duty 
to call him to account for his misdeeds, had I wanted, 
or to make use of his services in case I needed them ; 
and I resolved to try one last effort to get him to reduce 
his bitterness toward his nephew, and see if he would 
not use his influence to reduce the earl’s perilous plight, 
when suddenly her ladyship the countess knocked all 
my plans on the head by coming out of her retirement 
and assuming the rule of the castle herself. 

This became apparent one morning when I went 
down to give my orders for the day and see that all 
were secure, when the old armsman, a special favourite 
of the countess’s, and as such no liker of me and my 
rule, who was ever, in small, petty ways, comparing 
me unfavourably with my brother, took no little delight 
in delivering his message. 

“ She saith,” he cried, “ her high ladyship saith 
to thee, Master Ian, tell him, she saith, that he may 
have part of meanest cur in this castle, what is left of 
bone and water, but naught more ; and, moreover, 
she marvelleth that thou dost stay here, where thou 
art not wanted ! ” 

“ Thou old shambling fool,” I cried, “ thou ill 


240 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


varlet, tell thy lady that, were it not that her son bade 
me stay, I would not be here now ! ” 

“ Ho, ho ! varlet me not, thou Master Ian ! ” 
said the spiteful ancient, “ who hath a better right 
to my name than some I wot of.” 

“ How now, thou decrepit hound ! ” I cried, and 
in my rage I threatened him with my warder’s staff. 
“Dost thou dare ? ” 

“ Ho, ho ! we are high and mighty,” he answered, 
showing his grinning, toothless gums ; “ and wouldst 
thou kill me also as thou hast the young earl ? ” 

“ Varlet ! ” I cried in rage and shame, “ thou 
liest ! ” 

“ ’Tis no lie,” he answered impudently. “ The 
whole castle holdeth it true.” 

“ Thou tellest me this ? They believe this of me ? ” 
I said in my amazement. 

“ Yea,” he answered, “ that thou soldest him to 
the King. Yea, even the lady countess and the Lady 
Margaret Seton doth believe it.” And he grinned at 
me with such a malicious leer that had he not been 
such a shambling, decrepit bit of mortality I think 
that in my rage I would have crushed him where 
he stood. 

“ Go ! ” I cried, “ go and tell thy lady that my word 
to her son compels me to stay here ; but that beyond 
this she shall have no trouble of my presence. Now, 
go ! ” And I think that I forgot myself and his age, 
for he gave me but one look, and the malice died out 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


241 

into such a look of craven terror in his face that I 
could not help but smile as he made his exit. 

It was now worse than ever with me, now that I 
had naught to do but nurse my many troubles. Here 
I was, a pauper, disgraced and abhorred, in the walls 
of mine ancestors, and yet held by a bond of iron not 
to leave them. My one resource under other circum- 
stances might have been the priest ; but he, too, even 
forsook me. He came to my room one evening suddenly, 
and I was so surprised to see him, when he stood before 
me I could not speak. He looked much worn and 
aged, as if his mind troubled him, but held himself in 
his old calm manner. “ I . am going away for some 
time,” he said, “ and I want to say somewhat to thee, 
or I had not troubled thee with my presence.” 

“ Away ? ” I cried ; “ away from here ? ” 

“ And why not ? ” he said bitterly. “ Like thee, 
I am but an unwelcome encumbrance. Her ladyship 
must needs, since my lord’s going, get her a new con- 
fessor, who is coming here in short time ; so my work 
is ended.” 

“ Great Heaven, man ! ” I cried, “ thou art not so 
cruel and inhuman as to go from this place and leave 
these lone women as they are ? ” 

“ Yea, that I will,” he answered. “ Who are they 
to keep me here, when my spiritual work is ended ? 
I have matters on hand, higher matters, that are more 
important than attending upon a sour old countess, who 
in temper is more man than woman; and confessing 
16 


242 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


a foolish girl who knoweth not her own mind, even for 
her own good.” 

“ What meanest thou ? ” I cried. “ The Lady 
Margaret, what of her ? ” 

“Now keep thy reason, master clerk, or master 
armourer, or master warder, or sir earl. Which shall 
it be ?” he cried sneeringly. “ I have told thee often, 
with much truth, that this maiden is not for thee.” 

“ I care not,” I cried, “ save that she may be true 
to my poor brother.” 

“ And thou wouldst have me beheve all that ? What 

if I told thee more, that the girl ” here he paused 

maliciously. “ Nay, thou blind fool and saintly 
brother, thou most magnanimous Esau, thou must mole 
thine own way through this matter. But I would say 
to thee, thy staying here hath not raised thy character 
in her eyes.” 

“ I know it,” I cried. “ She despiseth me and 
de teste th me.” 

“ And who would not ? ” he answered. “It is not 
in a young girl not to, when thou shuttest thyself up 
here, and thy brother in peril.” 

“ And thou sayest that to me?” I cried. “ Oh ! 
what can I do ? I will kill myself if harm cometh to 
him.” 

: “Nay, thou fool, better come with me and accept 
my terms, and all this will be changed.” 

“ And sell my brother, mine uncle Angus ? ” I 
cried. 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


243 

“ Then I am done with thee,” he said, and he started 
to go. 

“ Stay ! ” I cried, “ mine uncle ! One moment ! 
He is thy brother’s son ! ” 

“ The more reason I should hate him,” he answered. 

“ But hast thou no pity,” I cried, “ no feeling, no 
human feeling ? ” 

“ Feeling ? ” he answered, and he went white under 
his dark skin ; y ea, I have feeling, Master Ian, and 
’tis here ! ” and he pointed to his cheek. It was all 
he said, but I knew that mine argument was useless. 

“ Then go, thou vile kinsman,” I said. “ But I 
tell thee plain, for all thine ill-schemes, I will baulk thee 
yet.” He turned and looked at me a moment, as if 
pondering ; then he said, “Yea, ’tis best that thou 
shouldst stay here, where thou art least troublesome.” 
Then he added, “Yea, thou mayst spoil my plans 
yet ; but if thou dost so ’twill not be because of thy 
mother-wit, but rather by thy cursed folly.” And 
with that he had passed out, and I saw him no more to 
speak to in this world. 

I was now left entirely to mine own self and my 
poor resources in this lonely world of castle, mountain, 
moorland, and sea. Having none to speak to, shunned 
and suspected by all, it is no wonder that mine old 
manner of solitary dreaming and lonely love of sea and 
hillside came back to me once more. “Fate hath 
doomed me to a life of loneliness,” I cried in my heart. 
“ Nature only is true and kindly. Though she be 


244 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


cruel, yet she hath a tenderness and a truth that is not 
to be found in mankind.” And I found that solace in 
lonely walk by calm and restless wave and the desolate 
glen and lonely strath, which most men find in human 
companionship, friendship, and love. 

I now took to my craftsmanship once more, and, 
after much failure and labour, constructed me a craft 
somewhat like that I had sent away with my friend 
the prisoner. With this boat I floated out from the 
little cove under the castle’s foundation, and made me 
voyages of discovery. At first I thought at times that 
I should be wrecked or cast away ; but by patience 
and perseverance I soon came to accustom myself to 
the water as to the land, and went on considerable cruises 
without knowledge of anyone, for no one cared whether 
I came or went. I also made journeys by land, skirting 
the shores and exploring the straths, and also went as 
far as the strath where I had formerly dwelt, but found 
the old huntsman was either dead or gone, for the 
place was deserted. Seeing that all here was desolate, 

I paid me a visit to my mother’s grave, and I found to 
my surprise that the cairn was not only well preserved, 
but that the appearance of some fond care was evident. 
As I approached I noticed a strange man kneeling as 
if saying his prayers. He rose as I drew near, and 
looked at me without speaking. He was a great, wild- 
looking man, with long beard and hair, and a dark, fierce 
look, and there was somewhat about him that made me 
think that I had seen him or someone like him before. 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


245 


“ Who art thou,” I cried, “ who dareth approach a 
strange grave ? What dost thou here ? ” 

He looked at me wonderingly for a moment ; then 
he said — 

“ Her was a great leddy, as sleeps there ; her was 
of a great people, her was.” 

“ What knowest thou of her who sleepeth here ? ” 
I cried, for I could not speak of my mother to a strange 
man, such as this was ; though I marvelled much at 
what he had said. 

“It is not for herself to say in the matter, but yon 
was a great leddy ; herself haf served her people and 
herself’s fathers haf for many generations.” 

Then amazement came over me. What could this 
strange man know of my mother ? So I answered 
him, “Yea, she was of great line, of noble, of royal 
blood.” He looked at me as if not understanding ; 
then he said, in a sort of fierce contempt — 

“ Kings, such as yon at Stirling ! Such kings haf 
had honour to haf her fathers marry on their daughters.” 

“ Then why doth she sleep here, in this lonely place ? ” 
I asked. 

“ Oh ! ’tis the sad story. But ’tis not for Tonald 
to relate to a stranger of the Catty nes.” 

“ Then who sent ye here ? ” I asked. 

“ Who ! ” he answered. “ Who, but her brother ? ” 

“ But who is he ? ” I cried. 

“ It is easy to see that thou art ignorant and close- 
reared not to know the man he is,” answered^the strange 


246 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


man. “ And it is not for Tonald to mention so great 
a name to a mere stranger in this place.” 

“ Then who art thou ? ” I asked in exasperation. 

“ Oh ! herself,” he cried. “ Herself is but Tonald 
Payne, henchman and gillie to that great person who 
haf sent her here.” 

“ Thou close savage,” I cried in mine anger, “ canst 
thou not speak me open ? ” 

“ And who is it who should require herself to speak 
more open on so grave a matter ? It is herself who 
hath said more than she ought, and moreofer Tonald is 
no safage ; and if thou wantest any more it is Tonald 
that can speak with the plade.” But I was in no mood 
to cross blades with this wild Westerner, or islander, 
as he appeared to be ; and I answered that I meant not 
to insult him. Then he said — 

“ Well, if it be not the plade that will answer, Tonald 
haf stayed but too long ; so herself will bid thee a good 
tay,” and with much stiffness and precision of manner 
he took himself off. 

As he went with great strides over the edge of the 
hill, and was lost to view, I marvelled who this man 
might be, and how much of all of this he said about my 
mother were true, and who this great person her brother 
could be, whom kings were honoured by being allied 
to through marriage. I knew in mine imperfect way, 
for the priest had told me, that there were great clans 
to the westward, whose chieftains rivalled our earls 
in power and pride of ancient line ; and I supposed 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


247 


that he must be one of these ; but which one, and where 
he could be found, was beyond my reach to know. So, 
taking a last fond look on the grave of her who had 
loved me so well, I retraced my steps homeward. 

It was a beautiful afternoon of our early autumn, 
when our northern world hath begun to put on in its 
bleak way that glory and splendour of colour with 
which it become th Mother Nature to deck her ere her 
death. Many sad thoughts were in my mind as I 
went, and I gazed upon the heather-clad hills and 
great dim mountains of the far west, and then turned 
mine eyes to the vast immensity of ocean to the north 
and east, which swept in its desolateness round the 
far lonesome rim of the world. There was a weird 
grandeur that appealed to my heart, so that even in 
my solitary sorrow I was raised to a better spirit and a 
higher mood for the moment, and forgot in this picture 
of desolate grandeur the great trouble of my life that 
beset me. I was going on in this way when I heard 
sounds of horses’ feet, and, looking up, saw approaching 
near me the Lady Margaret, pacing on her palfrey, 
attended by one single armsman. At this sudden 
sight of her, who was ever in my thoughts, my heart 
seemed to stop, and then gave a great bound like as it 
were to burst. Then, as I looked up, our eyes met, 
and we both were for a moment like people caught 
sudden in some deep thought ; but she quick collected 
herself, and with but a cold salute of her shapely head, 
made as if to pass on. But the sight of her face, that 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


248 

face that was ever with me in my dreams, looking so 
pale and wan, and regarding me with such cold hauteur 
of expression, drove me beyond myself, and I stepped 
to her side, and said — 

“ Lady Margaret, wilt thou not know me ? ” 

“ Sir,” she cried coldly, “ I would pass on.” 

“ And what have I done that I should be treated 
thus ? I am not the King, nor the Lord Albany, nor 
mine ill uncle, that I should be blamed for all this sad 
matter. I know that my lady countess accuseth me, 
but she hath ever hated me. All in the castle suspect 
and condemn me, and I care not,” I cried, “ for them 
all, or for the whole world, for that matter ; but I 
cannot stand it, my lady, that thou of all shouldst do 
likewise.” 

“ Sir,” she said a little softer — “ sir, I do in truth 
sorrow for thee.” 

“ Lady,” I answered, “it is not sorrow I need, but 
justice ! I care not for all these others, but that thou 
shouldst believe all this dishonour of me cuts me to the 
heart.” 

“ Sir,” she cried, “ I had not thought this of thee ! ” 
and she started as if to pass on. 

“ What mean you ? ” I asked, for I liked not the 
way she spoke. 

“ Why,” she answered in scorn, “ that thou shouldst 
be thinking of thy miserable affairs in the midst of so 
much danger to thy brother.” 

“ What danger ? ” I cried, 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


249 


u Wliy, heardst thou not the news special messenger 
hath brought this day, that he — he ” — here her voice 
broke to a sob, which she quickly checked — “ is to be 
executed within the month ? ” 

“ Dread Heaven ! ” I answered. “ This be too 
terrible ! ” 

“ And thou canst think of thine ills,” she said, “ while 
such dread danger overhangeth him.” 

“ I knew it not,” I answered. “ I have no knowledge, 
living as I do. I am but an outcast ! ” I cried. “ Oh ! 
what can be done ? ’Tis the work of that cursed 
priest ! ” 

“ Priest or other,” she cried, “ it shames my soul 
to be here talking to thee and he in such dread peril.” 

Even then her manner hurt me, and I said, “ I 
know well what thou dost mean. Would that I could 
help him and thee.” 

“ Thou knowest not all,” she cried, fiercely for her. 
“ He was villainously ill-treated, deserted, sent to his 
death by us all — by us all ! Even T — even I did not 
think of him as I should have. Yea, he was worth us 
all, every one of us. And we have let him go to his 
death.” 

“ Madam,” I cried, for her words cut me like a 
knife — “ madam, you know not all.” 

“ Know ! ” she answered. “ Tell me, thou, what to 
know, or what to do. Would I were a man ! Oh ! 
we women — we women ! ” 

“ Can the countess do naught ? ” I cried ; for my wits 


250 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


seemed to fail me in this strait, with her looking at me, 
or rather past me, with that high scorn and sorrow on 
her face, as though I were but nothing. 

“ His mother,” she answered. “ Yea, she will do 
all she can, poor lady. But what of that ? Dost thou 
not see that she were better to leave him alone ? Every- 
thing she doth but maketh things worse. Her pride is 
her curse ; even so, that be he murdered, ’tis she that 
hath helped him to it.” 

“ It was she and the priest,” I cried. 

“ The priest ! What mean you ? ” she asked. 

“ He had an old hate,” I answered, “ and a wrong or 
fancied wrong against my father’s house. You fine 
ladies know not how such ill rankles in us men.” 

“ And could wrath go so far in a man ? ” she said, 
and she looked at me so truly with her beautiful eyes, 
full of a sad wonder, that I could have wished myself 
my brother to have her sorrow for me. 

“Nay, my lady,” I cried, “ ’twere but madness in 
a good man, did he give himself up to such a villainly 
hate.” 

“ And couldst thou do this ? ” she said. “ I know 
that thou hast had much wrong.” 

“ Lady, believe me,” I cried, “ I have had much 
wrong in this place, more than thou wilt ever know ; 
but I would never forget, did he even stand betwixt 

me and, and ” here I paused, and she went red, 

then white. 

“ Say on, sirrah ! Say on ! ” she cried. 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


251 


“ That he were my brother,” I continued. 

“ Did I think that thou wert like that,” she cried, 
“ I would hate thee, I would scorn thee. But,” she 
added, “ these are all but brave words, Master Ian.” 

“ Brave words are all I have,” I answered ; “ I have 
naught else,” I said sadly. 

“ Thou hast thy sword,” she said, “ and canst use it 
dost thou will.” 

“ And what be that in a case like this, my lady ? 
One hand and one blade can do but little.” 

“ Lady me not ! ” she said in some bitterness. “ I 
am but a poor girl in a sacked castle, with my betrothed 
at the foot of the scaffold. Dost thou know, Master 
Ian,” she continued, “ that I was but slow to wed 
him. But now would I wed him, were it at the block.” 
And I know not why she said this, for she was ever 
proud and self-contained ; but it struck me that this 
were the end of life. 

“ He, the one man in the world ! ” she continued, 
and she looked so beautiful and sad when she said it, 
that I gazed at her in wonder. 

“ I doubt it not,” I answered stupidly. “ But I am 
but a poor youth. What wouldst thou have me to do ? ” 

“ Do ! ” she cried. “ Art thou blind ? Art thou 
a stock ? Hast thou no sense ? What else shouldst 
thou do, but take me with thee to Stirling, where I may 
see his prison, and where I may go to this same Duke 
Albany, whom I understand is real king, and there on 
my knees beg him for his life.” I looked my wonder 


252 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


as she said this in her passion, and she may have read 
somewhat in my face, for she added, “ Thou thinkest 
me unmaidenly, but God is witness I can do naught 
else.” 

‘‘Nay, my lady,” I answered, “ thou wrongest my 
thoughts.” 

Then she said, “ Thou fearest, then. But I have no 
fear with thee, sirrah, and that brave sword o’ thine. 
Do I not remember ? I will ne’er forget how brave 
thou wert, when thou slewest that man. Nay, nay, 
sir, with thee to squire me, I feel safe.” 

“ Yea,” I answered bitterly, “ thou wilt but go and 
do a fool’s part, and throw thyself into the lion’s claws, 
and write the last word on thy lover’s doom. When 
men see thee in thy youth and beauty ” 

“ Sir ! Thou darest ! Thou darest ! ” 

“ ’Tis but true, my lady ! ” I cried. “ For such 
as thee, men will do much, even to their soul’s dam- 
nation.” 

“ Sir, I did not think this of thee ! ” she answered. 

“ Oh ! I matter not, madam,” I cried. “ I am out 
of thy life. But I speak the truth, whether thou 
likest it or not. This thy beauty of person, added to 
the knowledge of thy rank and wealth, will make men 
but too eager to slay thy lord and get thee. Nay,” I 
continued, “ it were but madness to go. Then thou 
hast a cruel enemy there ; one who never forgetteth 
to avenge a hate. Against him and these others thou 
canst not prevail.” 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


253 

Then what would thou have me do ? ” she asked 
in her despair . ' ^ 

“Do thou but stay here, where thou art safe with 
my lady. I have a plan.” 

“ Speak ! Speak, quick ! What is thy plan ? ” she 
asked. 

“ ’Tis but a poor one, but ’tis my best,” I replied. 
“ I will go myself.” 

“ Thou ! ” she cried, as if in wonder, “ thou ! What 
couldst thou do ? ” 

“ ’Tis but little that I can do, lady ; but if I fail I 
can at least die,” I answered in some bitterness. “ Give 
me time to think,” I continued. “ There is time yet. 
God may send us a way.” 

“ Heaven send He may,” she answered, in her great 

sorrow. “ And do you but save him ” she cried ; 

but I stopped her there, for I knew that she would 
speak of reward. 

“ If I save him,” I answered, “ I save him not for 
all the kingdoms of this world or the next, but because 
he is my brother, and — and thy betrothed ! ” And I 
looked her in the face, who was all the kingdom I wanted, 
and which I was going to lose for evermore. 

What there was she read in my face I know not, for 
it is not given to us to know the words that we may 
often speak with the soul to those whom we love, but 
she looked at me with a sort of amazement, as if she 
had then known me for the first time as I really was ; 
then she dropped her eyes as she said — 


254 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


“ Pardon me, if I have insulted thee, my — my lord ” 
— here she stumbled, and then caught the right word — 
“ Master Ian.” But I bent my head to her as I said — 

“ My Lady Margaret, be as true in thy thoughts to 
me as I am to him whom we both love,” and I took her 
hand and kissed it, and ere I could lift mine eyes she 
had whipped up her horse and was gone. 

And I stood there alone on the great bleak northern 
shore, with the land on the one side and the sea on the 
other like unto that wondrous picture given of the 
last great day in the Holy Gospeller I had read from of 
late, in a great black-letter book I had found. And I 
felt a new life and a new manhood come into my heart. 
Whether she or God had put it there, or both, I know 
not ; but an idea had sprung into my heart and a 
scheme into my mind that I would give up my life for 
them both. 


CHAPTER XXIII 

TT was a wild and rash thought, this idea of mine 
to die for my brother. How it came into the 
mind of a youth such as I was, God only knows ; but 
I could see no other way out save by such a desperate 
resolve. All good impulses and reasons were guiding 
me to it. She loved him, and he was my brother. 
I could never live and be happy knowing that he died 
alone, away off there, without my hand lifted to save 
him ; and I could never have her, and she was the only 
woman in the world for me. So that there was to 
my mind, placed as I was, lost to all I should have 
been, and by no fault of theirs or mine, but one way 
out of the whole dread matter. Then they might 
yet be happy, though I could never be. This all 
decided me that there was but one thing in this world 
for me to do, and to do it well. 

This thought possessed me like wine does a drunkard, 
and kept me in sleep and waking ; but how to accom- 
plish it were another matter. Here was I, a lonely 
youth, in a remote part of the northern country, and 
the place I wanted to reach where my brother lay in 
that dread prison was far off, as I understood, many 


256 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


days’ journey to the southward, out beyond the grim 
Sutherland mountains, that formed so forbidding a 
barrier betwixt our land and the great country beyond 
them. Added to this, the autumn was now well ad- 
vanced, and if I did not soon start on my journey my 
way later would be blocked by the thousand difficulties 
inherent to the inclement season. And how was I, 
a poor untutored youth, who had travelled but little, 
to find my road and keep me amid the myriad dangers 
that beset even the most experienced travellers ? It 
was true that I had my sword, and in my rude way 
could use it, but that is not much, as many a poor 
lad hath found out ere now. I was at my wits’ end to 
know how to proceed. It were of no use, I knew, 
to apply to the countess. She would only scorn me, 
and think it but some scheme on my part to further 
complete the destruction of her son and the alienation 
of the possessions of her house. I thought it out all 
that night, but as it seemed to no purpose, and next 
morning I went down to take a dip in the sea, as had 
been my custom of late. As I was coming out, the 
sight of the craft I had built gave me a sudden thought. 
“ What a fool I have been ! ” I cried. “ I will try 
my friend the wild lord,” whom I had aided to escape, 
for I now remembered with a sudden impulse how he 
had promised to come to my aid did I but ask him. 

With a new hope in my soul, I hastened to my room 
and got out the stone which he had given me, and 
which was to be the signal on my part that I was in 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


257 

need of him. It was a strange, greenish-coloured 
stone, with some ancient marks upon one side, that 
made it look not unlike what is called an amulet, such 
as folk wear on their necks for charms. But I thought 
naught of its other secret qualities, except to put it to 
its one use of getting aid from him whom I had helped. 
Then I thought me that there was no time to lose, and 
that if I waited to get word from him before he knew 
the nature of my trouble, it would be too late to carry 
out my purpose. So I decided that it were best to 
send him word of the necessity of my making this 
journey ; and that if he got the one he would get the 
other at the same time. So I sat me down, and getting 
me a piece of parchment, wrote as follows : — 

“He of Girnigoe who helped a prisoner to escape 
is in great extremity to get to the Royal Castle at 
Stirling, on immediate business of life and death. 
Without means, or knowledge of the way to go, he 
sendeth this stone back to him who gave it.” This 
I placed in a package with the stone, and buckling 
on my sword, as was my wont in taking my rambles, 
left the castle, and went in search of the square stone 
on the summit of the bare hill. This from his descrip- 
tion was half-way up a small strath to the west of the 
castle. After much search I found the stone, which 
stood in a desolate part of the glen, and which looked 
by its shape and peculiar situation to have been placed 
there by human means. I have since been told that 
it was an ancient altar where some of our Norse or 

17 


258 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


Celtic ancestors used to make their sacrifices in their 
rude heathen manner. Placing the packet in the 
hollow he had described, which was also an artificial 
cavity made for some purpose, I departed with little 
hope in my heart that anything would come of the 
matter, and determined, if I got no word, to go openly 
to the countess and beg means and a companion to 
guide me to Stirling ; though the truth was that so 
small was our garrison, that I felt that it would be 
scarcely right to rob it of one of its defenders, even 
for so important a purpose. As I was not to receive 
any answer until the next evening, I went back to the 
castle and began to make what preparations might 
be necessary for my journey. I also had some doubt 
whether the late prisoner had that clerkly knowledge 
which might enable him to decipher my letter, but 
I thought me that if he were the powerful man he 
boasted to be, he might have either received that 
culture himself, or else would have clerks in his house- 
hold or retainership qualified for that office. 

When I reached my chamber, a surprise awaited 
me, for I found a packet neatly done up, and opening 
it I found a letter and another packet inside, both 
addressed to “ Master Ian of the Orcades,” a strange 
designation, I thought. The letter was addressed in 
a fine, delicate, clerkly hand, and proved to be from 
the Lady Margaret Seton. I could not help but press 
it to my lips, and weep over it, man as I was ; for what 
betwixt my dread resolve, which had worked me up to 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


259 


a sort of unnatural state, and the sight of her writing, 
with the message she sent, the first I had ever got in 
this world from anyone, and the last, as I knew it 
would be, from her, who alone made this world 
bearable, I was quite unmanned for the time. Recover- 
ing myself I read it, and it ran as follows : — 

“ Master Ian, I send thee this, mine all which I 
have by me. Use it for the purpose we both wot of. 
My palfrey will be given you, with proper equipment, 
by my groom. Quick speed ! and God go with you ! — 

“ Margaret Seton.” 

With it was another note couched in quite another 
tone, not so well writ, but full of scorn for me. 

“ Sir,” it ran, “ the Lady Margaret Seton hath 
informed me (by what knowledge I know not) that 
it is thy will to leave us in this our poor plight, illy 
garrisoned as we now are. It is ever the way of the 
coward, as thou knowest, to leave when the danger 
is near ; but I will not keep thee, seeing thou wouldst 
be of little use, and but a sore in mine eyes, as thou 
hast ever been. Shun pride and treachery, and per- 
chance Heaven will forgive thee thy sins, and bring 
thee to that proper sense of thy base origin, which 
Isabella, Countess of the Cattynes, can never do, nor 
ever come unto this castle again.” 

There was no signature, but it needed none. The poor 
countess, she little knew that Fate was stronger than 


26o 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


her sad ill-will, or of how I was to come back finally, 
and of all that was to befall us in the meanwhile. But 
her old pride and strong hatred of me was her main 
thought, and, poor lady, next to her love for her son, 
for which alone I forgive her all else, her chief passion 
was her pride and her hatred of me. And, indeed, of 
all women I have ever known, she was, by far, the 
strongest and most enduring in her hate. 

I opened the packet, and out fell a curiously worked 
bag of delicate steel network, filled with pieces of gold, 
which shone in the sunlight, like gleaming fish new- 
caught in a net ; and after it fell a beautiful richly 
wrought golden chain, set with rare gems. I knew 
them as those which I had seen her wear on state 
occasions, and that she valued them most highly, and 
for all my mastery of myself to be true to Hugh, I 
could not but sigh at this evidence of her love for him. 

The lady countess’s letter I answered in the following 
words, ere I burnt it — 

“ Madam, — Thou hast ever seen fit to withhold from 
me that regard which thou hast given even to the 
dogs about thee. As it is not likely that we will ever 
meet again, I would simply say that for all thine ill 
thoughts of me I have ever tried to be true to thee and 
thine as becometh an honest man in a wicked world.” 

The Lady Margaret’s letter, which went with its 
contents in a packet next my heart, to be treasured 
for ever, all my fife long, I answered as follows : — 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


261 


“ My Lady, — The treasures thou hast sent me will 
be put to the best use for that purpose dearest to us 
both in this world. My hope is to leave this ere thou 
gettest this message. May Heaven bless thee is the 
wish and hope of Master Ian.” 

It would be hard to explain in our slight knowledge 
of words what my feelings were, whilst writing this 
short note, for there are thoughts that do come to us, 
which are often but too sacred to find utterance for in 
the language of men ; and this love of a man for a maid 
is a strange and dread matter, and one to be wondered 
at and admired more than all other passions in God’s 
creation. It taketh hold of one with such a clutch 
at the heart and such a tyranny and mastery of the 
whole being, that it seemeth to hallow all life, giving 
a beauty to our meanest actions, and casting a glamour 
as of magic over all that she is, or hath, or that bringeth 
to our notice or remembrance thoughts of her person, 
her voice, or her face. ’Tis a sweet madness, and the 
rarest and divinest that this world hath ever known 
or ever will know, and hath more to do with the en- 
nobling of a good man than all the “ thou shalt nots,” 
and priestly creeds that infest this world. 

Having writ these letters, which I spent some time 
over, being but an indifferent scribe, as I even now am, 
I placed them aside, and busied myself with mine other 
preparations, which, having completed, I spent the rest 
of my time that night and next morning waiting with 


262 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


doubtful impatience until the time should arrive when 
I should go to the stone in the glen for mine answer. 

It was approaching dusk on the following evening 
as I set out to receive my message. There was a mist 
gathering in from the sea, and with it a danger that I 
might lose my way did it fall too close and heavy ; 
so I hurried me along the shore, where the tide struck 
hoarse and sullen with a roar and wash on the rocks 
and sands, though not so loud or with such force as 
when there was a storm, when the whole world was 
loud with the great boom and din of the incoming 
surf and the leaping spume that broke in wild madness 
on the reefs and skerries of our northern coast. But 
as I went, the sea rolled and crested with a sullen motion 
as of a great shining serpent, coiling and uncoiling 
in its sleep. I hurried on, however, not thinking of 
the sea, or the waves, or the rocks, or the grey sky, 
but of myself and my cares, and the doubtfulness 
of my getting any answer to the message I had sent. 
Thinking these mingled thoughts, I turned up the 
lonely strath, and ere I realised had arrived at the 
ancient stone. The mist was now blowing in, grey 
and fleece-like, and coming down in great skeins and 
webs of windy rain, so as to veil like a dense 
shroud the lonely world. But I could see enough to 
make out that there was no one awaiting me at the 
stone. I went and put my hand in the hollow to find 
the package, but to my astonishment it was gone. 
With a beating heart I stood there, undecided whether 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


263 


to go back or wait awhile longer, when I heard a muffled 
voice, and a giant form seemed to loom out of the grey 
mist, and stood before me ; and I knew him at once for 
the wild Westerner whom I had met at my mother’s grave. 

Not noticing my astonishment, he said quietly, 
“ What wilt thou haf with Tonald ? ” 

“ I know not if thou art the man,” I cried. “ I placed a 
token in yonder stone, and it is gone. Didst thou take it?” 

He quietly took it from his sporan, and held it out 
without a word. 

“ It is mine,” I cried, taking it from him. Then 
he spoke in his strange, impersonal manner. 

“ Herself went to him, and he saith that herself 
will meet thee at this place by sunrise the morrow 
for to make thy journey southward.” 

“ Who is this man you speak of ? ” I cried, “ for 
I would know more of him.” 

“And who else would he be but the fiar ? ” he answered. 
“ But it is not for herself to stay long in a strange place. 
Wilt thou come at that time herself hath stated ? ” 

“ I will be here,” I cried. “ You may expect me.” 

“ And herself will have a nag for thee. For it is 
long and a weary way, as herself knows,” he answered. 

“ I will meet thee, then, at sunrise,” I said, and ere 
I had finished the words he had melted as it were into 
the fog, as a mirage or shadow may disappear, and I 
wended my way back to Girnigoe in a new condition of 
doubt, hope, and wonder as to this gathering maze of 
mystery that was wrapped about my life. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


T LEFT Castle Girnigoe next morning before sunrise, 
and, as I believed, for the last time, and it was 
with a sad heart, which might surprise some, who knew 
all I had suffered of sorrow and despite at the hands of 
others therein. 

The night before I had managed to get speech with 
the man whom the countess had made warden or 
chamberlain to the castle. He was a bluff, sturdy, not 
unkindly man, and when I told him of my intended 
departure, and of my fear for the welfare of those I 
was leaving behind, he assured me that so long as a 
wall remained he would see that all therein were as 
safe as the rock of Girnigoe itself. This gave me much 
comfort, seeing that the man was one in whose word I 
could place trust by reason of his honest face, firm mouth, 
and bold, unflinching eyes. So that in this regard I had 
no fear did mine own plans but work as satisfactorily. 
I also had given this man the letters I had indited, to 
be handed to the ladies next morning after my departure. 

I set out on foot, for Donald’s promise of a nag had 
removed any need of my taking the Lady Margaret’s 
palfrey. This was much to my satisfaction, as I knew 

264 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


265 


this beast was one to which she was much attached, 
and it was some comfort to leave behind to her this 
part of her belongings. I stood for awhile, after leaving 
the castle, admiring its bold, rugged outlines of wall and 
keep, looming there amid its wide expanse of peaceful 
ocean, mountain, and shoreland, sleeping under the 
morning light. For I knew that I was taking my last 
look of all this scene of my sorrow and my hope, and 
of her who was the world in all to me ; and with a 
prayer in my heart for the gentle soul who dwelt there, 
I choked a rising sob and addressed myself to my journey. 

I arrived in good time at the stone, and there found 
the silent and cautious Donald, accompanied by the 
nag, the latter of which I soon mounted, and with 
Donald running or walking by my side, or a little in 
front, according to the nature of the road we went, 
proceeded on my journey to the far southward. He 
told me in few words that we were to travel for some 
days through the country of the Cattynes, and beyond 
the mountains of the Sutherland country, where we 
were to meet with the fiar, who himself was to proceed 
with me on my journey. 

It availeth not that I should describe this long, 
toilsome journey that I underwent. As all men do 
know, our castle standeth on the rugged front of a 
great cape that lieth out to the North Sea, which cape 
is the extreme end of a great portion of land reaching 
from the main body of that country which maketh the 
northern part of the land called Scotland. The journey 


266 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


for the first few days lay through what is called mine 
own country, that of the Cattynes — a land of much 
bogs and wetlands, with hill and lake dotted through 
in places, and here and there a strath, where men. may 
go with more ease, and rest them near some great 
cliff or mountain stream at nightfall. But withal it is 
mine own land, it has much of a flatness and tameness 
of appearance, and lacketh that beauty and desolate 
grandeur which are to be found in the great country of 
the southland beyond us. Crossing this country, we 
came on the third even to the neighbouring land of the 
Sutherland and the Mackay. Here we got into a 
beautiful inland part of the world, where the glens ran 
betwixt high mountains, and the path was often most 
difficult to find, and the climber would almost seem to 
hang from the rugged precipice we had to cross. Of 
this our journey I may say little, as I was myself but 
ill-minded for speech, and if I had been so inclined I 
would have found Donald to be the most silent man 
of his kind in the world. He could walk or trot for 
days without a word, save a question as to whether I 
were weary, or whether I should go on ; and when we 
had found a fit place for the night, would wrap him in 
his plaid and fall asleep in a grim silence, which to 
some would have seemed ominous. So we journeyed, 
I and this silent Westerner, until on the fourth even 
we arrived at the side of a small mountain lake of 
most beautiful appearance, and surrounded by shores 
as desolate in their grandeur as though unmolested by 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 267 

the hand of man since the beginning of time. Here he 
stayed for a space, -then giving a peculiar call, after a 
short time of waiting we saw a boat coming around a 
bend in the land, and moving toward us. Leaving 
my nag to be fetched, I got into the boat with Donald 
and one of the men, who looked and acted with the 
same severe, silent manner as the former ; and in a 
short time we were speeding across the water as fast 
as stout arms could propel us. Turning a point, we 
landed on a shelving beach, under a great cliff ; and 
there I perceived a solitary hut. From the door as 
we advanced issued a tall, commanding figure, who, 
for all his altered appearance and martial bearing, I 
knew at once to be the unfortunate prisoner whom I 
had released from the dungeon of Castle Girnigoe. 

“ Thou art come at last ! ” he cried. And he grasped 
my hand with a warmth and kindliness of greeting that 
showed his remembrance of my deed. But I noticed 
also that there was a deeper meaning in his friendship 
for me than was generally shown by so stern and silent 
a man, for there was a wild fierceness and pride of bearing 
about him that would have made most men fear him. 

He led me to the hut, where a meal was soon supplied 
us, rude but plentiful, and of which, after my long 
journey and course of simple fare, I was glad to partake. 
When the meal was finished there was an awkward 
pause, at least on my part, for I felt as though each of 
us wanted to speak on matters on which both were 
doubtful as to the opinion of the other. As I could 


268 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


now see, he was of no common rank, but my service to 
him and mine own need of aid in my project gave me 
courage to break the silence. 

“ Thou hast come at last into thine own again, fiar,” 
I said, giving him the title he probably carried as lord 
or chief of a great clan. 

“ Yea,” he answered ; “ I got mine ill cousin Roderick 
front to front under the skies, where we were alone ; my 
claymore met his, and he now sleeps with his fathers.” 

“ And thy wife and children ? ” I questioned. 

“ My Lady Morna, she is dead,” he answered. “ But 
my son Torquil thou wilt see for thyself, for is he not 
thine own cousin ? ” 

“ My cousin ? ” I cried in some wonder. “ Then 
thou art mine uncle ? ” 

“Yea, as true as that thou art that Ian, rightful 
Earl of the Cattynes and of the Orcades,” he answered. 

“ Then thou knowest that ? ” I cried. For all he 
had told me startled me somewhat. 

“ ’Tis full time,” he answered, “ that thou shouldst 
know what I can tell thee. Hearken then, my nephew, 
to these my words ! I am the MacLeod of that ilk, 
of a lineage longer than man can remember, great in 
this land and in a land to the west. I had but one 
sister, and she was thy mother. She was a maiden 
beautiful and well nurtured, as becometh the women 
of our ancient line, when this Ian, thy father, bore her 
off from my castle and married her. Their love for 
each other was a true and fond one, but this earl had 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 269 

an ill-gotten brother, a priest, as thou knowest, who by 
some devil’s art persuaded thy father that, seeing my 
house had shown honour to these present kings of this 
land by marrying on a daughter of that line, and that 
thy father’s house had done likewise, therefore thy 
father and my sister were cousins, and, as he declared, 
within that degree of blood prohibited by Holy Church 
wherein kin of the same blood should marry. Now 
this was no truth, seeing that the kinship was not near ; 
but this same priest — may Cod punish him, seeing man 
may not — for some devil’s reason of his own, worked 
on thy father the earl’s fear and his ambition to connect 
him with this house of the Douglas, so that by much 
scheming and plotting he procured a command from 
the Holy Father, setting my sister aside, and for which 
matter she would never in her shame return home, 
but lived and died in a lone place, far away from the 
land of her birth and her kin ; and this coming to mine 
ears, I would have brought the earl thy father to a 
sharp account, but he and my cousin, that same who is 
now dead, connived so cleverly that they laid me by the 
heels in that dark, ill dungeon where thou didst find 
me ; and ’twas a devil’s trick for a man to play his 
own wife’s brother ! ” he continued. 

“ He is dead now,” I cried. 

“ Then is it good both for him and the MacLeod,” 
he returned. “ And thou, my nephew then, thou art 
the Earl of the Cattynes, and thou shalt have thy 
rights and thine earldom. Thou wilt come with me to 


270 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


the Court at Stirling, and we will see what can be done 
to put thee in thy proper place.” 

“ But I have a brother,-’ I cried, “ who sitteth in 
my place ; but he is now in prison in that same Stirling, 
for treason, sentenced to death.” 

“ Then is it the better for thee,” he answered. “ Thou 
wilt come into thine own. Thou art of my blood and 
my sister’s son ; and I will see thee righted ! ” 

“ Hearken, mine uncle,” I answered, “ for such I 
may now call thee, there is much more in all this matter 
than thou knowest. It is true that by my mother’s 
memory I am, as thou sayest, the true Earl of the 
Orcades and the Cattynes ; but mine is a long story, 
and a hard one, and I beg thee to hearken to what I say ; 
for I tell thee frankly that this can never be ; nor would 
I dispossess my brother, if I could, but I cannot.” 

4 4 By the souls of mine ancestors ! ” he cried in 
wrath, 44 what meanest thou ? ” 

44 ’Tis even as I say,” I answered. 44 1 thank thee 
for thy proffered aid ; but Earl of the Cattynes I can 
never be ! ” i 

44 Wilt thou let this other son, this usurper, ride over 
thee and possess thy rights ? Thou art mad ! ” he cried, 
and he rose and paced up and down in some agitation - 
44 First,” I answered, 44 this Pope’s annulment doth 
stand in my way. In the eyes of the world I have no 
standing,” I cried. 

44 Thou hast ! Thou hast ! ” he returned fiercely. 
44 And by my sister’s honour, with this same blade will 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


271 

I write thee a patent, which not even the royal Robert 
himself shall dare impugn ! ” 

“ Yea,” I cried, “ thou wouldst give me my place by 
force. But how long could I keep it ? But there is 
somewhat more, mine uncle, and as thou lovest me, 
hearken to what I would tell thee.” And I related in 
short what I have here set down of my will in the 
matter toward my brother, saving alone mine own secret 
scheme to save him ; for I feared to reveal it, lest he, 
by force or stratagem, might prevent my carrying it out. 

“ My nephew,” he cried, when I had concluded, 
“ this lieth not in mind of man. Thou art a madman ! 
This hath not been hitherto known in our family, that 
one man should shut himself off for another, as thou 
wouldst do. Art thou truly willed to carry this out ? ” 
“ Yea, I am,” I cried. 

“ Then,” he answered, “ in thy mother’s name I 
say to thee, thou fool, that I forbid thee, and will oppose 
this for thine own good to the bitter end ! ” 

“ I defy thee ! ” I cried in some indignation and 
anger. “Is it thus thou wouldst requite mine aid 
who got thee out of Girnigoe ? Hast thou no bowels 
of compassion ? When I saved thee, did I know who 
thou wert ? Nay, save that thou wert in ill case and 
prisoned wrongfully. And wilt thou, then, see this 
young man, my father’s son, who is trapped, as thou 
wert, to his death, who is innocent of all sin against 
me, wilt thou see him in similar case to thine, and not 
have me aid him ? Wouldst thou have me a man 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


272 

forsworn in his honour as a traitor to the blood and the 
house that gave him shelter ? If thou wouldst, then 
thou knowest me not ! ” And I took his stone that 
he had given me, and hurled it from me. “ Take back 
thy pledge, thou forsworn man, MacLeod or no ! ” 
I cried. 

I think he thought me mad, or beyond his ken. He 
looked at me a moment as I stood glaring at him. 
Then he said quietly, picking up the stone — 

“ There is more in all this than thou hast told me ; 
but be thou minded to this I will see thee through. 
Thou art a MacLeod in this matter, that thy will may 
not be changed even for a folly. I will see thee through ; 
but it misdoubts me that thou art a fool.” 

“ Then thou wilt go with me to Stirling ? ” I cried. 

“ My word is given ! ” he answered. 44 But what 
wouldst thou do there ? ” 

44 1 would get entrance and speech with my brother 
in his prison,” I answered, 44 and carry him message of 
comfort.” 

“ ’Tis a hard matter to manage ; but it shall be 
done.” 

44 Then we must go soon,” I cried ; 44 for the time is 
but short.” 

44 What meanest thou ? ” he asked. 

44 He is doomed within the month,” I answered. 

44 Then, young man,” said the MacLeod, 44 thou hast 
set to thee a desperate work, for thou wilt have short 
time to save him if thou canst, which thou canst not.” 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 273 

“ God send that I get there in time ! ” I answered, 
“ or I am a lost man,” and I thought me of the Lady 
Margaret and my rash promise. 

“We may get there in short time, my rash nephew ; 
but little good wilt thou bring to this same brother 
o’ thine. He will hang all the same, and thou be Earl 
of the Cattynes, even against thy will. But we must 
start this even, for we have a long road and a rough, 
and thou wilt be late as it is.” 

It needeth not that I should relate the long, weari- 
some journey we made by land and water, or that I 
should describe the rare and grand country that we 
passed through. Nor have I time to describe the noble 
castles and grim holds that caught our eyes, or the 
beautiful vales and lonely mountains, the vast rivers 
and lochs that we skirted or crossed. My mind was so 
taken up by the fear that I should arrive too late, or 
that my mission might be of no avail when I got there, 
that I could think of naught else, and the whole journey, 
beautiful and strange as it was, lingers still in my mind 
as but a vague dream of loch and mountain, such as 
one might fancy in a morning sleep ; and it was with 
a glad relief that I first set eyes on the lofty battlements 
of the great keep of Stirling, which rose above its 
castled crags of olden fame of the mighty Bruce, with 
its clustered town clinging in quaint roofs and chimneys 
at its feet. 

There was some sort of fete afoot in the old town as 
we entered its gates, I on horseback and mine uncle on 
18 


274 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


foot, because for his own schemes he was dressed in 
disguise, representing the character of one of his own 
gillies or henchmen, which but ill hid his stern look 
of power and presence of lordly command. All this 
bustle of life, and sight of many houses, with busy and 
crowded streets, would, at any other time, have attracted 
me, as a new and uncommon experience ; but at this 
time I could only think of this place as the prison of my 
sad-fated brother, and the people as those who were 
his keepers and destroyers ; so I kept my face set 
before me, and looked on the distant bastioned keep 
on the hillside, and wondered in what part and in what 
grim cell they had him confined, and in what manner 
he would receive me and my determination to free him. 
We went by side -streets to a quiet inn, which mine 
uncle did wot of, where he had a friend in the inn-keeper, 
who was kindly for many reasons to men of the High- 
lands, and especially toward his house and clan. Here 
we put up for the night, and mine host, a slow but 
thoughtful and silent man, gave me a quiet room and 
a good bed, for which I was glad, and to which I retired 
early ; for I was worn with my journey, and I had 
much to think of and to accomplish on the morrow. 
Bidding me to get what rest I could, mine uncle went 
out to set his plans in action for the geting of me into 
presence with my brother, the Earl of the Cattynes, 
who, it was well known in the town, was, for high 
treason against his liege lord and king, under watch and 
ward in the great castle above. 


CHAPTER XXV 

r \ N the next even mine uncle came to my room, 
^ and told me that he had got, by much trouble, 
leave for a henchman of the young earl to see him alone 
in his prison. This was granted by the governor of 
the castle ; and he added that the Duke of Albany 
was expected hourly, and that on his arrival it was 
surmised that the young earl would be executed, as 
rumours of his defiance and rank treason had been 
brought of late from the earl’s country, and there was 
no hope of any reprieve being granted. Of course, 
I knew that this latter was the ill-work of mine uncle 
the priest ; but the news only steeled me all the more 
to undergo the fate I had marked out for myself. My 
great trouble, however, was how to get him off when 
independent of the castle ; for I could not trust anyone, 
and it was impossible to let mine uncle the MacLeod 
into the secret of my plans, which he would have 
interrupted at once. Therefore I had employed my 
day hunting about the old town for some means of 
carrying out my purpose, and after some search and 
trouble I discovered at last another inn, remote from 
where we were quartered, happily kept by a man of 

275 


276 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


the Cattynes, who was not above the love of gold pieces, 
as all of his guild are not ; and who, much as he would 
do for gold, I found out was also willing to do much for 
a man of his own country. I soon arranged with him 
for a guide, and a sturdy nag to ride that night to the 
north, for a brother of mine, I told him, who would 
arrive after dark from the south, and was in haste to 
press his journey northward. He warned me that 
the travelling was risky in that direction ; but I an- 
swered that a Cattynes man cared not for danger, as 
he knew ; and that the service was for a friend. So, 
in short, seeing my gold, he declared with many oaths 
that a Cattynes man had a right to help his friends, to 
which I agreed. Thus, having made this assignation, 
and getting its proper direction for my brother, I hired 
a small cateran for a fee, who showed me the road to 
and from the castle gates. This I had done during 
the daytime, hoping to get all in train for my purpose 
that night, and doing it all in a matter-of-fact way, 
as if I were not all this time preparing for mine own 
execution. All this, of course, I managed under 
pretence to mine uncle of being out studying the 
town, while he had been absent getting my warrant of 
admission to the castle prison. 

“ Here,” he said, “ my mad nephew, is thy right 
of admission, signed by the governor, and as thou art 
to go in the character of a henchman, I have procured 
for thee the proper dress.” I took the warrant from 
his hands with the feelings of one who knows that it 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


2 77 


is the writ of his own death ; but the road was trodden 
now, and I could not, nor would, go back. As my uncle 
had said, I was mad. It took me not long to get into 
the clothes he had provided, and buckling on my great 
sword, I bid mine uncle good even, and issued forth. 
I felt it but an ill-return for all his kindness, to leave 
him thus when it was excedingly doubtful that I should 
ever see him again ; but this matter I had undertaken 
allowed of no small scruples of feeling. I thought of 
the Lady Margaret and my poor brother, and I went 
on ; for I was afraid that any words of mine might 
reveal my design. 

It was a dark night, and I had some trouble to find 
my way. But near my Cattynes inn I found my 
small gillie awaiting me, who was to lead me to the 
castle, and my supposed self back to the inn. I said 
but little to him, but wrapped myself as closely as I 
could in my cloak, and followed him up the great hill, 
which led to the many-bastioned citadel. When I 
arrived at the front of the entrance, I bade my lad 
await me there, as I would in all probability be some 
time ; and getting ready my warrant, I approached 
the entrance. The warden was at first unwilling to 
give me entrance on any terms ; but seeing my paper, 
his manner changed. 

“ ’Tis unusual to let visitors in at this time o’ night,” 
he said, “ but this is a special warrant, and thou art 
his squire, art thou not ? ” he said, but with some 
surliness. “ And thou hast come all the way from 


278 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


his country to see him swing, as he will, from yon 
beam to-morrow.” 

“ How now ? ” I cried in horror. “ So soon ! What 
mean you ? ” and I could not help it, but a sense of 
dread overcame me. 

“Yea, my master,” the man answered, “ the great 
Albany hath been here these two hours ; and word 
hath gone forth of thy lord’s execution on the morrow’s 
morn ! ” 

A cold chill went all through me. I had screwed 
up my courage to expect something like this ; but 
the brutal and sudden manner of his telling it made 
me quail Tor the first time since the undertaking of 
my adventure. But I remembered her, who was even 
now praying for me and expecting me to be brave ; 
and I stayed my courage and pulled myself together, 
and followed him within those grim, forbidding gates, 
which I felt I would never more go out of, save to my 
death. Then a quick thought came to me, and I said 
to my guide, “ Doth the young lord know that his end 
cometh so soon ? ” 

“ Nay ! Nor why should he ? ” he answered with 
a grim smile. “ He will know soon enough the morrow’s 
morn.” 

Summoning a grim old keeper from somewhere 
within, and who came shambling up, he gave me into 
his charge. This old seneschal was a hardened-looking 
ruffian enough, as though the long care of prisoned 
men, and the guarding of them in those grim cells, 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


279 


and the leading of them to death, had seared his soul 
and face into a stupid brutality. Taking from a great 
iron hook, in the cell he occupied, a bunch of ponderous 
keys, he lighted a torch and led me through long, dread, 
gloomy stone passages, where now and again I saw 
doors, as I passed, of massive oak and rusted iron, 
which led, no doubt, to cells like that one where he 
was now taking me. As we passed I also saw, as in a 
half-dream in the flare of the torch, strange engines 
of torture, rusted swords and blocks for execution ; 
all of which gave me a strange horror of the place. 
But I had not long to dwell on these matters, for we 
soon came to a low, heavy-built arch of grey stone, 
under which was a ponderous wooden door, fastened in 
a formidable manner with bar and bolt and chain. 
Pulling the bolt, and unloosing the chain, and swing- 
ing with a slow, grim motion the door backward, he 
bade me enter. Then telling me to rap twice, and he 
would release me, he slammed the door on me in a 
surly manner, and I found me in the room alone. 

There was something in all this grim place that 
gave me a nameless horror, as of cruelty and misery, 
and lack of liberty, and of death in its most slow or 
hideous forms ; all of which had power to unnerve me, 
and for the moment when that brutal keeper slammed 
to that terrible door there came to me a feeling of great 
longing for open sky and air, and sweet earth, and a 
despair of ever seeing them any more. Such a hope- 
lessness doth come over all prisoners at a moment like 


280 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


this ; but remembering my duty I stepped forth into 
the room. There was a dim wick of some sort burning 
in an iron lamp, which gave a flickering light throughout 
the apartment ; which, I afterward learned, was one 
reserved for prisoners of State. It was a room of lofty 
roof, where the day came dimly through gratings not 
to be reached save by the eye. The walls were gloomy 
and bare, and a few articles of ancient oak furniture 
were ranged about as if adding a grim resemblance 
to comfort and habitation to so gruesome and dread 
an apartment. There was at one side a narrow couch, 
and in the centre stood a massive oaken table, while 
by it a rude chair ; and there near it in the middle 
of the room I stood face to face with my brother 
Hugh. 

“ Who art thou ? ” he cried in stern tones. But 
I noticed that underneath his sternness there was a 
sense of foreboding he was illy trying to hide ; for 
prisoners in places such as that could not tell the day 
or the hour when they might go forth to their death, 
nor could they know but that any messenger was either 
an attendant to execution or an assassin come to do 
his grim work in their cell. “ Who art thou ? ” he 
repeated. But I was so astonished at his changed 
appearance that for the moment I could not find words. 
For he was worn and white, and the high courage all 
gone out of him, save that innate nobleness he could not 
lose ; and I further noticed that he had a look and 
carriage as of one in pain. 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 281 

“ My lord earl,” I cried, “ dost thou not know me, 
thy brother Ian ? ” 

“ Nay ! ” he cried. “ Thou ! Thou here ? ” And 
he sat down, for the surprise seemed to overcome 
him in his altered state. “ And what for ? ” he con- 
tinued. “ And how are they ? And how is she ? ” 

“ ’Tis she that hath sent me,” I answered ; “ and 
she is well.” 

“ I might have known it,” he said, recovering some- 
what of his former spirit. “ God bless her ! And 
my poor mother, what of her ? ” 

“ Well as she can be, and thou here, for she, like 
the other, is breaking her heart for thee in thy danger.” 

“ I know it ! I know it ! ” he cried. “ Yet they 
may grieve in vain ! These devils, mine uncle and 
Albany, have cooped me up here to my death. Were 
I but out for one month I might get interest with my 
mother’s folk. But here I am powerless, and I know 
well, though I hear naught, that they mean my death.” 

Now here was my chance to work my plan ; for I 
was but waiting for some excuse to introduce it to him, 
but I said, “ Thou lookest ill, my brother ; art thou 
not wounded ? ” 

“ ’Tis but a scratch,” he said, “ in my side ; but it 
hath not healed properly. In this devil’s place naught 
will heal. ’Tis a cursed cell, which adds its horror to 
the horror of death, which it anticipates by its grimness.” 

“ Hath none visited thee ? ” I asked. 

“ Yea, my brother ! ” he said. “ I had one visit 


282 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


from my villainous uncle. Wouldst thou believe it, 
that devil had audacity to come here under plea of 
fear for my soul ? But I felt that it was only to gloat 
over my condition. So I spumed him and treated 
him as though he were the fiend himself.” Then he 
turned to me, and said, almost fiercely, “ And thou, 
my brother, hadst thou naught to do with my coming 
here ? ” 

“Nay, Hugh,” I answered, “ else why would I be 
here now ? ” and with a right good conscience I told 
him the one great lie of my life ; for it angered my 
spirit that this noble young man, my brother, should 
be thus kept ignorant of his terrible doom on the morrow. 

“ Hugh,” I cried, “ thou hast wished for chance 
to retrieve thyself, to get back thy former position 
and liberty if thou couldst but get from here for one 
month. Then know you that I have come here to 
give thee that one chance ! ” 

“ Dread Heaven ! play not with me!” he cried. 
“ Thou ! thou meanest this ? ” 

“ Doubt me not ! ” I cried. “ And I tell thee plain 
’tis she hath sent me. ’Tis for her I have come. Hugh, 
my brother, she dieth for thee in thine absence, as doth 
thy mother ; and I have come here purposing to take 
thy place, that thou mightest go back to them, and 
wreck these plotters.” 

“ Can this be ? ” he cried. “ Thou, Ian ! thou take 
my place ! ’Tis madness ! ’Tis madness ! ” and he 
rose up and paced the cell in great agitation. 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


283 


“ Not such madness as you think,” I answered. 
“We are much of a size and likeness enough to deceive 
these jailers. I have all ready for the scheme. Thou 
canst by morrow morn be well out of their clutches.” 

“ Yea,” he said, facing me, with a strange eagerness 
and wonder on his face ; “ yea, I would be well ! But 
thou, Ian, what of thee ? ” he cried. 

Then I lied. “ Hugh,” I cried, “ in one month the 
great Albany cometh here,” and as I said this I could 
not help but dwell on the horrid system that kept a 
prisoner such as he was in ignorance of the great world 
about him. 

“ Yea,” he answered, “ and that meaneth my death ! ” 

“ Then,” I cried, “ thou hast that one month, in 
which much can be done. My plan is this : ’tis a 
simple and safe one. I will stay here and take your 
place, and thou canst go forth a free man, and get 
thee to thy castle, or to the house of thy mother’s 
folk ; make good your cause with the King, and re- 
trieve your position ; and if you are not able to do 
so, you can but come back here and give yourself up 
in my stead.” 

He looked at me in a strange way. Then he said, 
“ And thou hast planned all this ? Thou ? I cannot 
believe that thou couldst be so noble.” 

“ Nay,” I answered, “ my brother, it is for her sake 
that I have done this, as thou also must do thy part 
in this for her sake.” 

“ Ian,” he cried, “ thou art better than I ! God 


284 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


bless thee for this ; and yet thy plan is a good and 
a wise one. In one month, in shorter, I will have 
the Douglas at my back ; I will get the King’s ear ! 
My mother and I can do it ! When I am master of 
mine own again, I will reward thee, and she also shall 
thank thee.” 

“ I want naught but thy love, my brother,” I cried, 
“ But the time is short, and thou needst all thy wit 
to carry this plan which we have before us.” Then 
we made haste and exchanged clothes ; he to wear 
those of freedom and hope, and I to put on, as I well 
knew, those of despair and death. I next warned 
him to say little, and to keep his cloak close about 
him, as I had done ; to hail and follow the gillie to 
the inn, which I described, and thence get off as speedily 
as possible to the north. 

“ Never fear for me, my brother,” he said. “ I know 
the road well, and I will soon be back for thy release, 
or else to take thy place.” 

“ Hugh,” I answered, “ take her my love. Tell her 
I did this for you both. She will understand ; and 
may you both be happy.” Then I gave the two knocks, 
my sign of release to the warder, as he buckled on my 
great sword, and I shoved him out. 

“ Go ! ” I whispered, “ or all is lost at the last ! ” 
I believe he weakened, and would have refused to go ; 
but it was too late. The grim jailer appeared and 
led him out, and the ominous door clanged, and I 
was shut out from the world of men until I should 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


285 


go out next morning to my grim fate, and a grim one 
it was indeed, as if in mockery of my hopes and rights, 
to die, at least, where I might not live, as the most 
potent the Earl of the Orcades and the Cattynes. 

When the door had closed with that harsh, ominous 
sound, and I was alone by myself in this living tomb, 
which seemed to me to be but, as it were, the ante- 
room to that real one to which all must come sooner 
or later, a cold shudder came over me at realisation 
of what I had done to myself. Then I cried that I 
were a coward to think such dastard thoughts when 
I knew that she, weak, tender, delicate-nurtured girl 
that she was, would have gone willingly to a worse 
doom for his sake ; and could not I, a man, do at least 
as much and die for them both ? Then followed a 
more dreadful thought, a fear that he might bungle 
his part and spoil my scheme, and but add my death 
to his own. As to my uncle the MacLeod, I knew 
it would be as the event proved, he would wonder at 
my not returning, and, suspecting some danger, would 
come to the castle and hear of my exit. Then he 
would lose sight of me, never dreaming the real con- 
dition of affairs. So it happened. But I had mine 
own part to play, and a dread one it was. So, with 
a grim resolve, I commended my soul to Heaven, and 
with sleepless eyes addressed me to the gloom of my 
long night’s vigil to await that dawn which should 
usher my soul to heaven. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


S O long as I live I will remember the terrible night 
which I endured in that grim abode of man’s 
cruelty and his brother’s despair, awaiting, I knew 
not why, for the first grey pale finger of daylight, 
through those grim gratings in the high wall, which 
was to usher me forth to a felon’s death. 

I am now a man well waxed in years, and I was 
then but a mere youth, scarce, save for mine ill-up- 
bringing, which aged me ere my time, more than a 
boy ; and I now marvel at my boldness of heart which 
made me endure that night, and the horror of that 
place, and the dread fate which awaited me. I even 
found myself speculating as to whether my brother 
had got off safe, and if so, how far he had got on his 
way. Then my mind would carry me further to imagine 
his welcome at Girnigoe Castle, and the great joy of 
those who looked with anguish and despair for his 
return. Then when I thought of her — for my mind 
would ever revert to her and her last words to me, 
God bless her I — I knew that she would be glad to 
know that I had done this, and had died bravely ; and 
I knew that if none else cared or remembered my 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 287 

sad fate, that she at least would know, and would 
understand ; and this were worth all. It was this one 
thought, dwelling on which over and over kept me 
sane and in my right mind, and strong and bold to 
meet bravely what I had to undergo with a firm heart, 
praying God that it should soon be over. 

I know not how long it was that I sat thus awaiting 
the end. It was horns afterward, but it seemed years 
of waiting, that the cruel white dawn came peering 
in ghastly lines of light, down through that grim window, 
and smote me with the thought that my time on earth 
was drawing rapidly to an end. I had once heard of 
the famous mound of earth that stood somewhere 
outside of this dread castle of ancient kings and mighty 
lords, where men, doomed like myself, had gone forth 
to meet their death. And I knew that it would be 
there that I would look for the last time on the pitiless 
heaven, and the eyes of cruel men, ere I passed from 
memory of the living. 

I am, as is natural, a lover of our old homes of 
Scotland’s nobility, and I am proud of this ancient 
hold, Girnigoe of the Cattynes, because of the glory 
of the names and deeds of mine ancestors that hangeth 
about and broodeth over its stateliness of bastion and 
wall. Though there hath, on the other hand, been 
much that was hideous and cruel attached to its 
memory — deeds which, because of their evil, had better 
be forgotten than remembered of men ; yet even for 
all this, — I have a pride in its walls, its towers, and the 


2 88 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


name and line which its splendour represents. But 
there is one keep in all Scotland which I want never 
to cast eyes on again, and that is the most renowned 
of all amid the most stately holds and ancient towers, 
namely, the great castle and royal hold, Stirling. 

The morning light grew whiter and whiter, until I 
could in some sort of manner again make out the 
gloomy appearance and hideous loneliness of my sombre 
prison, for the wick in the lamp had long since sputtered 
out, leaving me in that darkness commensurate with 
the sadj gloom of my thoughts and feelings. I sat 
there in that chair in a condition of half-stupor caused 
by much fatigue from want of sleep and the great 
strain of mind consequent on my position, in which 
the events of the past and the dread of the future 
mingled themselves in a sort of confused dream, which 
was neither of sleep nor of waking ; when at last I 
heard the sound of the withdrawing of bolts, and the 
clinking of chains, and my door swung out on its grim 
hinges. Then I awoke with a start as one from a 
half-dream of the morning, and gathered myself to- 
gether with some firmness to meet my fate, and play 
the part, as a man should, which I had assumed. I 
sometimes since have thought that it might have 
mattered little had they known % the truth of the trick 
I was playing on them, seeing that by that time my 
brother was well out of their clutches. But at the 
time I could not think clearly on any matter, and 
had much trouble to keep my mind on the main work 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 289 

which was before me, and to play in simulation, what 
I really was in truth, the imprisoned Earl of the Cattynes. 
I stood up, and tried to look brave and unconcerned, 
for I rightly supposed it was my grim keeper come 
with his fellows to lead me forth to execution. 

There were three who entered, and when the mist 
had cleared from mine eyes I saw them stand before 
me. One was the shambling old keeper, my guide 
of the night before ; the second was a companion brute, 
his fellow- hound in cruelty and besottishness. The 
third man needs more detailed description, for he was 
the officer sent by the governor to lead me forth to 
whatever fate they had in store for me. He was a 
short, stout man, of powerful frame, cased for the most 
part in mail, and had a hard indifference toward the 
work in hand that smote on me and told me, even before 
he spake, that the message he bore was one of death. 

“ Sirrah,” he said, “ art thou the true and rightful Earl 
of the Cattynes, the body of whom I am sent to produce 
in person ? ” and his harsh tones fell with that sternness 
and cruelty befitting the place and scene. Even then it 
seemed a grim trick that Fate played me, while I was 
tricking all these cruel men, that I could speak the truth 
in all sincerity, as I answered boldly and straightforward — 
“ Yea, sirrah, I am the true and rightful Earl of 
the Orcades and the Cattynes, son of Ian, my father, 
now dead, of noble memory.” 

“ Then thou wilt soon join that same father,” he 
answered. “ For I am sent to bring thee into the 


290 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


presence of that princely Albany whose very smile is 
death, and who never sendeth for any from this place 
save those whom he would put out of life ! ” 

“ Save thy words, thou cruel man,” I answered. 
“ I am he whom you seek. Do your will.” 

“ Then, in short,” he cried, “I, Sir Ambrose 
Whachope, knight, am sent by the most potent Prince 
Albany to fetch thee, the treasonable master and late 
Earl of the Cattynes, into his royal presence immedi- 
ate, there to receive thy doom; so for such prepare thee.” 
Then he said to the keepers, harshly, “Do ye your 
work,” and in a short time these grim men had fastened 
to my wrists and ankles heavy, galling chains ; then, 
with one of them on each side of me, I left the room, 
and followed the knight by ways of long, grim corridors, 
dark passages and gloomy stairs, until at last we 
arrived at a great door, where men guarded the entrance, 
and where at last we were ushered into a large and lofty 
apartment, fashioned and furnished in noble stateliness. 

At the upper end sat some men, who by their 
person and manner I took to be high in the State, 
and prominent among them sat one whom I at once 
knew by his cold sinister face, manner, and com- 
manding presence, to be my dread cousin Robert the 
Duke of Albany. He wore a handsome dark cloak 
trimmed with fur, and had on his head an earl’s bonnet, 
made of some rich stuff. Round his neck, hanging 
well down in front, was a massive gold chain of broad 
flat links, and attached thereto was a medal of some 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


291 


Order, either of our land or of France. As he looked 
at me I forgot all that dread company of judges in 
whose presence I stood, for there was a look on his face, 
as I fronted him, like that of mine uncle Angus, only of an 
even darker and more commandingly ill and cruel aspect. 
But when he spake it was with the sweetest voice I had 
ever heard in a man, although there was a cruel undernote 
to it, and did not one see the face of the man himself he 
had been deceived into thinking that it was the voice of 
human tenderness and pity for his fellow-men. His was a 
rarely cruel and ambitious nature, and the dread manner 
in which he compassed the death of my cousin, his nephew 
Rothsay, so soon after this affair of mine, hath left a 
stain on his name which is but ill to our house, and scarce 
equalled in cruelty in the worst annals of our history. 

“ Well, my proud earl,” he cried, and his voice 
sounded like some silver bell on my troubled ear, 
“ art thou that same renegade to our sovereign brother 
and the laws of this unhappy State ? ” and his voice 
seemed sorrowful toward me, as if he held pity rather 
than sense of revenge and hate against his unfortunate 
cousin of the Cattynes. But I knew by his face that 
there was but a false hope in the sweet sorrow of his 
voice, and I answered as well as I could — 

“ My lord prince, if thou meanest who am I, I am 
that most unhappy of lords in this unhappy land, the 
rightful Earl of the Cattynes.” 

“ I meant not,” he answered, “ of thy right to the earl- 
dom. It will need thee little, I sorrow to say, but shortly. 


292 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


But methinks,” looking at me deeply and speaking sternly, 
“ that thou hast changed somewhat since we last met?” 

Now this question startled me. I had not thought 
of this chance, that he might have known my brother. 
Had this strange man by his subtle skill discovered 
what none else could see ? I determined, however, to 
put a bold face on the matter, and I answered, “ If 
thou meanest, sir duke, that I am changed in person, 
thou art right ; for the cruelty of oppression, the ill 
gloom of my cell, and the apprehension of my fate at 
thy hands, have made but an ill man of me, so that I 
can scarce know now the person I am become.” 

“ Thou wilt know me waur later,” he said, and the 
sweet voice but ill hid the poison that showed in his 
face when he said it. “ Thou and thy father betwixt 
thee have doomed thy house, and by thy lawless deeds 
toward Holy Church made thy name a horror in this 
land, till I shame to know that there be blood connection 
betwixt us. Then I have heard that about thyself 
which maketh it impossible that thou shouldst go 
unpunished, for fear that greater ill should come.” 

By this I must have made some friendship for mine un- 
happy state among several of my judges ; for a tall lord, 
clothed in armour, turned and said, “Most noble Albany, 
can there not be some manner of punishment meted out 
to this most unhappy young man short of the worst ? ” 

“ What mean you, Seton ? ” said the prince, in his 
most sweet manner. “You were ever quick to side 
with treason against mine august brother.” 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


293 


u My Lord Albany,” cried the other in quick anger, 
“ lay no such charge on me ! Thy royal brother and 
his interest were ever mine, and that of my sword to- 
defend him, even were it against thee ! ” and he said 
this in a tone that would have roused any other man 
save this most subtle character. 

“Yea, most noble Seton,” he answered, as sweetly 
as before, “ my royal brother well knows thine aspersions 
against myself. But I remember now ; this youth 
hath some hope to contract marriage with a lady of thy 
house. Is it not so ? And l\ath he not some blood 
kinship also which giveth rise to thy pity ? ” 

“Nay, most noble prince ! ’Tis not this which 
moveth me in the matter,” cried the Lord Seton. “ But 
I grieve for so brave and well-looking a youth, who is 
yet young, and suffering, as we all know, for his father’s 
sin, who is now dead and called to account elsewhere. 
But were thy words true, ’tis but nature, and I appeal 
to thee, is he not of thy blood also ? ” 

“ This,” answered Albany, “ is all the more reason that 
we should make the punishment of the sin not over light ; 
for if we allow those of our own blood to err against the 
State, how can we fairly rule this great land with justice 
to all ? ” And he looked at them there as though he were 
the most impartial judge, and not the most cruel and 
tyrannous of men, which our times have seen ; and my 
whole heart rose in scorn that I should owe my life to 
the hands of such a man, and I burned with shame and 
anger that he should be called of my blood. So I cried out — 


294 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


“ I want no pity at his hands, my lords ; but justice 
in the sight of Heaven ! ” At this they all stared at 
me as though I were mad, and a whisper ran among them. 
Then several spoke out, following each other, but all to 
the same effect, that I should be spared the extreme 
punishment, which they saw the duke desired should 
be my fate. Yet all, save a few, spake as men holding 
a natural dread of this terrible cousin of mine, who held 
the power of Scotland in his hands, and who, under a 
pretence of mercy to some and justice to all, practised 
the most cruel tyranny ; and held the inward ambition 
of ousting his brother’s family from that throne which 
he had sworn to obey and protect. 

But this man was one who knew how far to go, and 
when to stay his hand ; and he saw that there were few 
there who held his view of my case as one to be worthy 
of death. But, as I soon found to my cost, he had a way 
of his own of seeming to give in to others and to forego 
one revenge for another even more terrible. 

“Ye speak truly, most noble lords,” he said. “ In 
a sense the late earl, our renegade cousin of the Cattynes, 
was most to blame for the deeds done in the earldom ; and 
in chief for this most heinous murder of a prince of Holy 
Church, a crime unsurpassed in its cruelty and sacrilege ; 
so much so, that it hath caused this kingdom to shudder ; 
and ill would it be were the Holy Father and the princes 
of the Church in this realm to hear that ye most noble earls 
and barons passed over such a crime as so light a matter.” 

At this subtle” argument, which appealed to that 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


295 


common, fear of the Church which is shared by the Lords 
and Commons of our realm, I could see that Albany had 
made a strong point against me. But he continued — 

“ Seeing that the father were the greater sinner in this 
matter, perchance the son may be able to clear himself 
as regards this crime, even though he be guilty of other 
ones, including the direct defiance of the King’s orders 
and commands, even to the extent of bringing about 
bloodshed among his liege’s loyal subjects.” Then, 
turning to me, he said — 

“ Perchance thou canst satisfy these thy peers of 
thine absence from that most sacrilegious attack on the 
Church’s hold. Wert thou present on that occasion ? ” 

“ My lord prince,” I answered, “ it were useless to 
deny that I was of the party who committed that 
unhappy act. But I must say plainly that though 
my late father the earl may have been much to blame, 
yet the unfortunate bishop was equally, if not more 
so, to blame ; and by his wicked and unchurchly treachery 
and pride brought about his own destruction, which he 
had not done had he kept himself to the affairs of the 
soul, which matters alone it being his duty to attend to.” 

Now there was much in what I said that would have 
appealed to the sense of most of my judges ; but the wily 
Albany at once exclaimed — 

“ See ye that he not only acknowledges his part in 
the crime, but justifies its occurrence ? ” Then turning 
to me, he said — 

“ Neither do I suppose, my lord earl, that the sword 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


296 

of so gallant an exponent of thy father’s crimes was 
altogether guiltless of blood-letting on that occasion ? ” 
Now he had me in ill case, for, as I have already shown, 
I took no part in the attack. But to parley with this 
cruel man I saw was useless, and to explain why I used my 
sword on that occasion was beyond me, seeing it would 
be to deny the part I was now playing ; so I answered — 
“Of a truth, my lord prince, I cannot deny that it was.” 
“ He hath convicted himself on his own lips, my 
lords,” he said. “ But I sorrow that so young a man 
should die before he hath had time to turn from his 
errors. Therefore, my lords, I have considered it right 
that his life should be spared at this present, and that 
his many crimes, which merited that extreme punish- 
ment, should be forgiven him to that extent.” 

At this there was a slight murmur of applause for the 
mercy shown me ; but the most kept silent, for they knew 
that the duke’s mercy was ever more dread than his con- 
demnation, and I for my part had so well read the man, 
that I knew something terrible was yet to come. So I 
stood there silent and held my breath till he continued — 
“ Therefore,” he said slowly, eyeing me with a 
sinister look, “it is not our will that he should suffer 
penalty of death ; nor is it our will that the earldom 
of the Cattynes should now be as yet abrogated to the 
Crown, and so cause that greatest of all ills, a rivalry 
for its honours and possessions among ye, my lord 
earls.” And he looked them over with some sarcasm. 
Then he continued — 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


297 


“We have taken counsel with a wise father in the 
Church, a near relative of this young man, and as we have 
made vow to our patron saint that this same lord should 
see his earldom no more, we have decided to send him 
back thereto after receiving that punishment for his 
crimes which our royal brother’s forgiving mercy and 
favour have meted out to him.” Then, in his sweetest 
tones, he continued — 

“ Most noble, but renegade Earl of the Cattynes, 
it is the royal will that this day, for thy many sins 
committed against this kingdom of Scotland, you be 
taken to the proper place for such punishment, and 
that there, by the hand of our appointed executioner, 
you suffer the penalty of having your sight for ever 
destroyed by the ordeal of red-hot irons ; and may 
Heaven in its mercy have pity on your soul ! ” 

At this dread sentence, the most terrible next to death 
itself, and in the eyes of many even worse, a shudder 
ran through the assembled company of lords, some of 
whom looked on me with a sad compassion. There was 
some murmuring, but no spoken remonstrance save by the 
Lord Seton, who, standing up and facing the duke, said — 
“And I, my lord prince, will have naught to do with this 
most cruel and brutal deed ! ” and so saying he left the hall. 

The prince spoke not a word, but merely smiled. 
Then, turning to the men who guarded me, he said to 
them sternly, “ Do your duty ! ” And with a sense 
of horror that overcame me, I was led forth from his 
presence. 


CHAPTER XXVI I 


HE terrible tragedy wbicb now took place, and 



in which I was a sad and unwilling actor, would 
have been omitted by me in this relation of my history, 
as one too revolting in its particulars, and painful in its 
detail of human suffering ; and as, in his play, the tra- 
gedian leaves those parts of his story to be understood 
as having taken place, so would I have curtailed this 
story, which already groweth over long, were it not that 
a strange thing happened in connection with this bitter 
experience of mine which it is necessary to relate, and 
which showeth how remarkable is the hand of Provi- 
dence, or of Fate, in the strangely commingled fortunes 
of this evil world. 

I left the judgment hall of that grim castle, led by 
those brutal keepers, with a strange ringing in mine ears, 
and a film of mist, as it were, before my sight ; and none 
may blame me for this ; for who would not have felt as I 
did in such dread circumstances ? I had entered that 
place, prepared, as much as any poor mortal man can be, 
for death ; yea, death in its most revolting form to 
most men ; but death at least, sharp and sudden, which 
would end all. But for this new horror I was not 


298 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


299 


prepared, and to undergo this most hideous mutilation 
made me shudder, and turned all the world of man into 
a hideous mask of cruelty before mine eye. To him who 
hath a love of the beautiful in the face of Nature, who 
seeth fairness and sweetness in all form, who knoweth 
the face and presence of friend and beloved : to this one, 
to have the windows of this world closed to him for 
ever, and still to linger on, perchance for years, a poor, 
sightless trunk ; to have to pick his way where others 
might walk in full enjoyment of their power, were a 
terrible alternative, and to me in particular one for 
which I had no heart, and but a great horror. To some 
souls anything might have been better than death, 
so long as they should be near those they loved, to hold 
communion in no matter what form ; but to me, as I 
was situated, where all was hopeless so far as this world 
was concerned, the ordeal I was to undergo was too 
horrible to contemplate. It has ever been a marvel 
to me how men can be so hideously cruel to their 
fellow-beings. I could understand the fierce cruelty 
of a soul in agony in quick, sudden anger taking terrible 
revenge for some great wrong done. This may be 
understood as a mood of one who hath lost his mind, 
one to be deplored, but pitied. But this cold, cruel, 
calculating nature, such as could send a young 
man to a doom like mine, is beyond mine under- 
standing ; and can only be explained by those 
demonologists who, among our Church fathers, have 
considered such pitiless souls as creations of the 


3 oo IAN OF THE ORCADES 

foul fiend himself to corrupt and torment this 
world. 

I can never look back on the hours that followed 
without a sense of great horror and shuddering at what 
my soul suffered, ere I had to undergo the final ex- 
cruciating agony. The most terrible thing I had to 
contend with, however, was the utter hopelessness that 
overcame me at thought of my cruel fate ; and I believed 
that, had I known they would have satisfied me, I 
would have prayed those cruel men to kill me outright. 
I cannot understand why I did not fight to the last with 
the despairing energy of a wild beast brought to bay, 
ere I would have let them do to me what they did. But 
so terrible was my hopelessness, that I walked between 
those grim men like one in a dream, from which there is 
no waking. This they seemed also to perceive, for they 
forebore those taunting cruelties commonly practised 
on their prisoners by their keepers at such times. So 
they led me, the two guards and the officer, downstairs 
and along corridors of that dread keep, until at last we 
emerged from a side postern into a large square yard, 
from which there smote on mine ears once more the 
one-time merry ring of hammers on clinking iron. 
Then, as it seemed, my senses came back once more, 
and I became a living man, acute to feel and note what 
was going on around me, and to expect what was about 
to occur. It was a large place, well Uttered about with 
bits of armour, helmets, broken swords and spears, 
and all the gear pertaining to the work of a master- 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


301 


armourer. There were a forge and two anvils, and 
upon one of the latter a strapping apprentice was beat- 
ing life into a blade he was fashioning in merry mood 
to drink life of some poor mortal. As he worked he sang 
the while a gay troll or catch. I remember it well, 
his gay song and heartless mood, as I thought then, who 
could so lightly sing in so cruel a world. His song, as I 
remember it, went thus — 

“ Laugh, love, and sing alway ; 

Life be made for sport and play ; 

Happy the open and close of day, 

For soon our beauty it be but clay, — 

While merrily rings the anvil.” 

On the other anvil, with his back to us, and by his 
side a brimming flagon of nut-brown ale, and a great 
lump of bread-and-meat in his hand, sat the other smith, 
who seemed by his build and appearance to be the 
master of the forge. 

“ Ho ! master armourer,” cried the officer. “ Heat 
thy searing iron in thy forge red-hot, for we have brought 
thee a fine pair of eyes for thee to scorch the daylight 
out of. So haste thee, for we be in a hurry.” 

Then the strange thing happened which I have to 
tell ; for he slowly rose, and, placing the can of ale 
whence he had taken it, being about to indulge in a long 
draught, turned about to look at us ; and to my amaze- 
ment there stood before me the master-armourer of 
Girnigoe, to whom I had served apprenticeship. 

It hath been said that such sudden encounters or 


302 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


surprises have been the test of real gift in most men. 
If this be so, the master- armourer must have been a 
man of wondrous resolve, at least so I have thought 
ever since ; and he hath been well rewarded for his cool 
mother-wit that summer’s morn, when he was sudden 
called from his meat and ale to act executioner to his 
former companion and apprentice. 

As for me, I started back ere I could hide mine emotion, 
and at first it shot through my brain that this was my 
reward for setting mine uncle the MacLeod free, that 
this man should come here to do me this ill office. 
Then it seemed that there might come some ameliora- 
tion of my misery, seeing that he knew me, and would 
remember old kindness on my part. But I was but ill 
prepared for his action toward me. It is true that at first 
his jaw dropped in some amazement, but he was the 
first to recover his wit, and said naught. 

“ Well, master armourer, ye seem to have met afore,” 
said the officer. 

But if I thought my quondam acquaintance was to 
befriend me, I was sorely disappointed, for he said in but 
surly tones — 

“ ’Tis with no gladness that I set eyes on him again, 
sir officer.” 

At this I was indignant that he should so repudiate 
our former friendship, but remembered that it was ever 
so in this world when a man is down. 

“ Now that I mind me,” said the officer, “ ye hailed 
yourself from this man’s hold, did ye not ? ” 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


303 

“If ye mean that I ran away from Girnigoe, that I 
did, and with right goodwill,” said the smith. 

“ Then thine will be a right merry work this morn, 
my brave master armourer,” answered the officer. 
“ Old scores are sometimes repaid even to my lord 
earls, are they not ? ” 

The armourer started at this, and looked at me 
wonderingly. But I spake not. Then, to my horror 
and astonishment, my one-time acquaintance said in 
stern tone to the keepers — 

“ Bring yon dog this way, that we may put his eye- 
holes out.” 

I could no longer hold myself, but said — 

“ Sirrah, hast thou no heart, no remembrance ? ” 
But he only laughed in my face, and said to the musical 
apprentice, who had stayed in his song to look at me in a 
kind of dull wonder — 

“ Heat thy searing iron, and heat it well ! Mind thou 
gettest it hot as thou canst ! ” Even the officer was 
surprised at his brutal mood, for he said — 

“ It must be a deep grudge thou owest him.” 

“ ’Tis little else we poor get from his kind,” said the 
armourer. “ ’Tis my turn now, fear not ! ” he said to 
the officer, but looking at me. “I will do my work well ! ” 
The apprentice was now blowing at the forge all he 
was able ; but the fierce armourer was not satisfied, 
but cried in anger, with many oaths — 

“ Heat it hot, to hell’s hotness ! Nothing short will 
do him ! ” 


304 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


I was more and more amazed at this madman, as I 
thought him, but I was to be more amazed yet. 

“ Carry not thy fierceness too far ! ” cried the officer, 
“ for liis death would be a sore work on our hands.” 

“ Cry not mercy to me, damn you ! ” cried the 
armourer. “ Mercy for such as him ! ” he said, with an 
oath, and to my wonder and indignation he took up his 
flagon of untasted ale, and crying, “ Take that, thou 
dog of an earl ! ” flung the contents in my face with such 
force and direction that for an instant I was blinded 
with the stuff, that covered my face and ran down on my 
doublet. 

“Dog of an armourer ! ” cried the officer, “ thy 
contempt carrie th thee too far ! ” but the keepers only 
laughed a brutal laugh at this eccentricity of the master 
armourer. As for me, I tried to wipe my face with my 
manacled hands, but could not ; and amid disgust and 
horror was standing in amazement, when I was surprised 
to hear him whisper as he passed me to examine mine 
eyes — 

“ As thou valuest thy life, wipe it not off ! ” Then 
he said in brutal tones to the keepers, “ Hold him tight ! 
Let him not move on your lives ! ” Then he turned 
to the apprentice and shouted, in tones of hard com- 
mand — 

“ Quick, now, the iron ere it cools ! ” But another 
dread event was to happen. Just as I was looking, 
as I thought, for the last time on sweet blue skies and 
heaven’s sunlight, a man rushed with an agonising yell 



Page 304. 


Ian of the Orcades 








7.42V OF THE ORCADES 


305 


into the courtyard ; and to my surprise I saw it was mine 
evil uncle, the priest. There was a terrible look on his 
face, as of one who had been trapped in his own ill- 
desires, as he cried — 

“ Stay, ye fiends ! Stay ! It is all a mistake ! ” 
Then, ere anyone could speak or stir, he fell in a dread fit, 
such as I had seen once before on the sands at Grirnigoe. 
But they minded him not any more than though he were 
a dog ; and ere I could cry or think, those cruel men had 
me in a vice. There came a noise of hissing and hot 
metal ; and a white agonising and blinding light swept 
across my face with a pain as of hell ; and for some time 
after I knew no more. 


20 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


TT seemed days after that I came to myself to find 
that all was black, save for a dim sense of the 
light of the world beyond my shut tent of vision. And 
I knew that I was in the open, and on my way back to 
Girnigoe. Then all came back to me with a rush and 
a memory of my dread position. But ere I could moan, 
drink was at my lips, and a voice said in compassion 
and respect — 

“ My lord earl, doth the pain leave you ? ” It was 
the voice of the leech who spoke, who now attended me 
with great care ; for now that the duke’s revenge was 
worked on me, I was treated with all deference and 
respect as became my position. Yea, I was an earl now, 
or the mock shadow of one, and they were taking me 
back in grim splendour to Girnigoe. I tried to think and 
to plan or wonder how all would come out ; but the pain 
in mine eyes was maddening, and I was glad when the 
leech placed some cool, soothing lotion on them and 
relieved me, as a sick child is tended by its mother. In 
this manner and this dread condition, after fourteen 
days, did I arrive at Castle Girnigoe. It was a sad 
entry for me, and for those who expected me ; for, as I 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


307 


found afterward, the dread ill that had befallen me had 
reached Girnigoe sooner than I, as ill-news doth ever 
fly quickly ; while the real earl, my brother Hugh, 
having got back in disguise, had for several reasons kept 
himself in secret ; for that by all, he having arrived at 
night, he was taken for me and so treated. Whatever 
his feelings were, I knew not for some time ; but, as 
matters now stood, it was a tragical situation, and one > 
which, in mine agony of pain and darkness, seemed to me 
to be past working out. 

The lady countess, who was in much anguish of 
mind, thinking me her son the earl, received me in 
great woe of heart, and had me borne at once to the earl’s 
room ; for the leech had said that if there was any 
slight chance of mine ever seeing day again, I must for 
some months be kept in darkness. This chance hope 
given me, I learned afterwards, was all owing to the 
friendship and splendid mother-wit of the good master- 
armourer ; and his mode of saving me was by means of 
those actions which were considered greatest evidence 
of his hatred to me, the deluging me with the ale and the 
heating of the iron to the hottest point, both combining, 

I am told, to form a sort of film or coating over the eye- 
ball ; and so protected the inner part from the too fierce 
heat of the dread iron. For all this, I was in sad dark- 
ness for many a day, and never even unto this time have 
fully recovered so as to see God’s heaven and the face 
of Nature and my fellow-men as some souls do. But 
of this all in its place. For the time, the greatest woe 


3°8 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


to me was the way in which the poor countess, whom I 
now pitied in my heart, went on about me, kissing me 
with much protestation, and saying that her pride had 
killed me and had been my destruction. 

“ My son ! Oh, my son Hugh ! ” she said, as she 
leaned over my couch in the dark apartment, “ why do 
you not speak to me ? Why art thou so cold to thy 
mother ? ” But I was afraid to trust my voice. 
“ Speak to me, Hugh ! ” she wailed. “ Tell thy mother 
that thou forgivest her for her mad counsel ! Speak to 
me, and say that thou dost forgive me!” 

“ I forgive thee ! ” I said in a weak voice. 

“ Say that thou still lovest me ! ” she cried. 

“ Yea, I sorrow for thee, even after all, and pity thee ! ” 
I cried, and I meant what I said, for her woe went to 
my heart, and I dreaded the hour when all this would 
have to be revealed. 

“ Thou art weak, my son,” she said, as she fixed my 
couch in that tender manner only a woman can. “ Thou 
wantest rest.” 

“ Yea, I would be alone ! ” I cried. 

“Yea, madam,” added the leech, “ would you have 
him recover he must be left alone with much rest and 
quiet.” 

“ Then I will leave thee, my son,” she said, and she 
leaned over and kissed my brow, and a feeling that it 
and her woe gave me, together with my sense of the 
whole sad matter and my dread blindness, smote me so 
that I broke down and sobbed. 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


309 


“ Now, madam, you must leave him,” cried the 
leech, and with much grief and tenderness she went. 
Then the leech dressed mine eyes and gave me some 
cool restorative, and departed also. He was a wise man, 
according to his light, and trusted much to Nature, 
and little to those quackeries practised by many of our 
mediciners. So I was left alone with my thoughts ; 
and they were all that I had left me. But my mind was 
busy on two matters : first, I marvelled where she was ; 
then I questioned what was become of Hugh. These 
two thoughts worried me for some time, and much as 
I would try to drive them away they would come back. 
As I lay there in this meditation, the door opened softly, 
and I heard a step approach my couch, and a voice, 
that of Hugh, said, in a sad, despairing tone — 

“ Ian, my brother ! ” and he had my hand in his, 
and was kissing it, and weeping over it, as if he had now 
known me for the first time. “ And thou didst all this 
for me ? ” he cried. “ Thou gavest thy life, but it is 
all in vain ! ” he continued. “ Why didst thou not let 
me die ? ” 

“ Hugh,” I answered, ‘ I did it but for the best. I 
did it for you and for her.” 

“ Yea,” he cried, “ I see it all now, but it can never 
be as thou hast intended. My heart is broken. I now 
see your kindness to us all. Thou hast done what I 
may never repay ; and all for what ? I now know what 
is just in all this matter. Thou art the eldest son of our 
father, and the rightful earl to this great possession. 


3io 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


I have thought it all out ; and if my father did wrong 
thy mother, it is but mine to right this matter.” 

“ Hugh,” I answered, “ I am but a wreck of a man ; 
stay thou here and keep thy place. Thy mother will 
never see this as thou dost.” 

“ She must ! ” he cried. “ Her pride hath been too 
strong in the past.” 

“ But how is she to know ? ” I cried. “ She taketh 
me for thee, and her anguish is terrible. Dost think it 
right to cheat her thus ? ” 

“ ’Tis her just punishment,” he answered. “ My 
poor mother ! And who is there to tell her, for I cannot ? 
Oh, Ian,” he continued, “ I am weak ; oh ! so weak ! 
Ever since this dread imprisonment I am not the same 
man. But keep this mockery up for one day more, 
and I will reveal the whole truth.” 

“ Hugh,” I cried, “ my brother, thou must not lose 
courage. ’Twill all come right in the end.” Thus I 
spake to him ; but in my heart I wished that I might 
die. Then I said, “ Where is she ? Hast thou seen 
her yet ? ” 

“ Nay,” he answered, “ ’tis this very matter of her 
that hath made me the poor weak thing that I am. I 
sorrow to say it, but I fear not for my mother ; though 
I know her trouble will be woeful and great ; but ’tis 
the other’s scorn and contempt I fear.” 

“ Not if she loveth thee truly,” I cried. 

“Nay, Ian, I am but a lost man,” he answered, with 
a sort of sob. “ Ever since I allowed thee to take my 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


3ii 

place I feel as if I had lost myself. I should never have 
done it. Why didst thou tempt me ? ’Tis I should 
have died for my house and mine honour, and not thou.” 

“ Hugh,” I answered, “ try and face thee this matter 
as God would have thee. Thou hast done naught 
wrong. ’Twas I deceived thee. ’Twas for her sake also, 
remember that.” 

“ Nay, thou art wrong, Ian,” he answered. “ Hear 
me out, for I am a dead man. Thou must know the 
truth, and thou alone, for thou hast done all, and thou 
lovest me, and thou art strong. Not to priest or other 
would I tell this. My mother must never know, nor 
she above all ; but know thou that from the moment I 
entered that dread prison my hope of life went out like 
a wick in a lamp, and my manhood with it. The sight 
of those grim engines of torture, and the cruel eyes and 
taunts of those ill men, gave me a horror of all which 
lay before me, till I, who would have laughed at death, 
grew as fearsome and as cowardly as a girl with anticipa- 
tion of what might come to me. I could not sleep at 
night, and I sat all day waiting and waiting, and every 
time that brute-keeper came to my door, I thought it 
was to take me forth to torture or death. Then I 
longed for the air and sunlight, and mine old freedom 
once again, as a sick man longs for health and strength ; 
and when thou earnest, oh ! my brother, with that offer 
of thine, thou little knewest whom thou wert releasing, 
and with what a beating heart I took thine offer. Nay, 
nay, it were not mine earldom, nor even her ; but my 


312 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


poor terror, my craven fear that made me let thee make 
that sacrifice.” 

“ Hugh,” I cried, “ thou art mad ! Thou but fanciest 
all this. And were it true, ’tis but human and natural, 
for the sight of that prison made mine own heart sink 
even as it made thine.” 

“ Yet,” he cried, “ thou wentest in and took my 
place, and I let thee, craven that I was, in my base 
weakness. Nay, thou art the more worthy ! Oh, 
that I might die, and be out of all this, for I feel that 
bv this mine act I have lost her, honour, and all.” And 
with that he clasped my hand in a sort of clinging despair, 
as though I was his only strength, and with a sort of 
choked sob crept from the room. 

I lay there long, and pondered over what he had 
said ; for I felt that we were all in but evil case, and that 
somehow in my blind effort I had spoiled matters after 
all. Yet I knew not that it was Heaven which worked 
out in our poor broken souls those mysteries of its great 
will. But as I lay there I could not see all this, and 
relying on mine own poor plans, I marvelled how I could 
make it all come right for those two, her and him. As 
for myself, I was in mine own regard but a dead man ; 
and had done with the things of this world for ever. 
The more I thought and pondered how I should keep 
true to my resolve not to reveal it all so as not 
to lower him in her eyes, the more the dread pain 
and darkness of my wounded sight vexed me and 
tortured me. And, above all this, there was a great 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


3i3 


longing in my heart, such as a wounded creature might 
have, whom men say longs to go home to its own 
haunts to die, so longed I for one more sight of her, or 
knowledge of her presence, and then to pass from it all. 

Then a wonderful thing did happen ; and it seemed 
as though Heaven, in its long forgetfulness of me, 
remembered at last, and gave answer to my prayer. 
For as I lay there the door opened and then shut, and 
though I heard but a light step, for all was but dread 
darkness to me, who only knew presence by sound and 
feeling, yet I knew as well as God was in heaven that 
it was she who stood before me. Then I lay still and 
let my heart beat, knowing that if I dared but speak 
I might reveal all ; and now I knew that it was not in the 
taking of Hugh’s place, nor in the going to mutilation 
or death, but now, even now, that the great struggle 
of my life was to come. So I lay still and feigned sleep, 
though I felt if my heart beat so loud in my breast that 
she must have heard it like a bell proclaiming my love 
and fierce longing to take her into mine arms and die. 
Then I felt her come near and bend down ; and it is 
marvellous how many senses Nature gives to those in 
love ; but I felt her beauty and maidenly tenderness 
there in that room as a lily that bloomed therein. Then 
when I felt her lips on my fevered forehead, it were as if 
God had bent down and spoke to me at last. Then she 
spake as if to herself ; and a strange fear and wonder 
overcame me as she said — 

“ God help me, and I have been untrue to him ! I 


314 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


for whom he hath suffered all, and he so noble ! Oh, 
that he might die in this blinded sleep and this great 
trouble, and never know that not only they who slew 
him were false, but I, even I, who should have loved 
him ! ” Then she fell on her knees beside my couch, 
for I felt the rustle of her garments as she knelt, and 
she cried, “ Oh, God ! Oh, dread Heaven ! Have 
mercy, oh, have pity on the wayward heart of a poor 
young girl ! ” And her voice smote so pitiful, that I, 
who listened, marvelled at this terrible woe that could 
affect one so young and so beautiful. Then she con- 
tinued : “ Hear me, Mary, Mother of God ! May I all my 
life be a true wife to him, so young, so noble, so ill- 
treated and blinded ; may my eyes be a light to his, 
and my hand to lead him ! ” And when she said this I 
could no longer forbear, but broke out into a quick sob. 
At that I felt her start back, as if caught in her secret 
trouble ; then she bent over me, and said, “ My lord, 
art thou awake ? ” Then I could not longer keep silent, 
but said, trying to conceal my voice — 

“ My Lady Margaret, is it thou ? ” 

At that, at the sound of my voice, or the way I said 
it, I know not — unless, I have since thought, it was 
her keen sense — or how it was she discovered me ; but 
she sprang to her feet with a terrible cry, and called out, 
“ Oh, God ! Oh, God! Oh, God ! ” 

At that my lady countess came into the room, crying— 
“ My son ! My son ! Is he dead ? Oh ! tell me not 
he is dead ! ” But I could feel that other presence 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


3i5 


lean over me, and I knew her startled, terrible anguish, 
and choked sobs, as she said these words : 44 Is it thou ? ” 

^ It is ! ” I answered. Then she cried, clutching my 
hand as^in a vice, “ And thou didst all this ? Thou 
didst all this \ ” 

“ Yea, my lady,” I cried. “ Would to God I had done 
it better ! ” 

“ Oh ! my fool heart,” she said, “ I might have 
known ! I might have known ! ” At this the lady 
countess broke in, saying, 44 What meaneth this ? ” 

“ This, my lady,” cried the Lady Margaret. “ It 
meaneth that it is we, thou and I, who have been 
blind ! ” 

“ Girl ! ” cried the countess in terrible rage, “ wouldst 
thou play with me ? ” 

44 Know you not, proud woman,” answered the girl, 
“ who this is ? Not thy son ! Not the Earl Hugh ! 
But one far nobler, far greater than we all ! Thy 
stepson Ian, who hath saved thy son.” 

“ ’Tis a lie ! By Heaven, ’tis a foul lie ! ” cried the 
countess. Then she came near me, and for all her 
hatred I could not but be stirred by the woman’s 
terrible anguish, which, though all was darkness, seemed 
to fill the room. 

“ Hugh ! ” she said ; 4 4 dread Heaven ! my son Hugh, 
tell me, thy mother, that it is all a lie ! ” 

44 Madam,” I began, for I was bewildered by it all, 

44 madam ” But I never got any further, for 

whether it was the awful shock, or the sudden sense of 


316 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


her great wrong to me, I know not ; but with a terrible 
cry she fell forward to the ground as if dead. 

“ Oh ! angered Heaven ! ” I cried, and I tried to rise, 
“ I have killed her ! ” Then there was a confused 
sound of footsteps in the room, and her women bore 
her out to her own apartments, and I met her no more. 

“ Poor woman,” I cried, “ this will kill her ! ” but the 
soft hand that held mine shook, as the sweetest voice 
in the world said, “Yea, if it do I care not. I hate 
her and them all, for what they have done to thee, to 
thee ; and even I drave thee to it.” 

Then a great happiness stole over me, and I said, 
“ Margaret, I am but a poor wreck of a man, and not 
worthy of thee ! ” For I was afeard that it and she 
would all pass away like a glad dream of the night, 
and leave me more desolate than before. Then I 
remembered Hugh, and I cried — 

“Nay, this can never be ! Thou art pledged to 
Hugh,” and I gave an exceeding bitter cry, and I said, 
“ Margaret, thou art to me the only love and sunlight 
on this earth, and when I give thee up I give up all that 
I have to live for ; but oh ! my brother ! ” 

“ Thy brother ! ” she cried. “ And he let thee do 
all this for him, and her, and me ! ” 

“ Nay,” she continued, “ ’tis thou who deservest all ! 
I never loved him, but only tried to.” 

“ My God ! ” I cried, “ let this not be a passing dream. 
Margaret,” I said, holding her hand, “ I am but a 
poor broken soul, tell me true, do not deceive me, by 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


3*7 

thy pity for my poor, maimed, broken body ; but tell 
me, dost thou love me ? ” 

“ Love thee,” she answered, “ I have loved thee from 
that hour when thou slewest that brute in the bishop’s 
castle. From that hour thou wert the one man in the 
world to me. But I thought that thou heldst ill against 
thy brother ; and that cruel woman worked on me, and 
forced me into betrothal with her son. I would have 
tried to do my duty to him, since I was but a young girl, 
sold from hand to hand as a slave ; and then I pitied 
him, seeing how he was treated ; but now mine eyes are 
opened as thine are closed.” 

“ Margaret,” I answered, “ art thou sure of all this ? 
Then he is earl of all these proud lands, and I am but as 
naught.” 

“ And it is that thou meanest ! Have I not wealth 
for both, and art thou not an earl’s son ? I will win 
place for us both. Thou art dearer to me than all the 
earls in the world.” 

“ Come closer, my love ! ” I cried. “ I fear that this 
be but a dream, a sweet dream, sent by Heaven to me 
ere I die,” for I felt as though I were going. She came 
and placed her dear arms about my neck, and held 
me to her heart, as a mother would her child, and then 
as my lips touched hers there came a double blackness, 
and I knew no more. 

But I did not die. Those sweet eyes were eyes to 
me, those hands as my hands, until, in God’s own time, 
I saw for myself once more, and became as other souls. 


318 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


For let all tlie Churchmen and cynics in this world say 
nay, but the best hope and restorer in this world for a 
poor castaway man, such as I was, is the true love of a 
good and sweet woman. 

There is little more of this story to tell. The next 
week a dread matter happened in Scotland. While I was 
being made happy, and was still helpless, and the poor 
lady countess was wrestling betwixt her pride and her 
sense of right, the news came that the young Prince 
David of Rothsay was found starved to death in the 
Douglas hold, and the proud Albany came down from 
his perch. Then my case came out. For my love had 
sent message at once to her friends of the whole merits 
of my cause, and the great cruelty done me ; and then 
another matter happened. The priest, mine uncle, 
who nearly died, did me justice at last, and a message 
came down post haste from Perth, where the King was 
staying, with a great document, proclaiming my rights as 
rightful Earl of the Cattynes, as elder son of Ian, the 
late ear'l, and his first wife and countess the Lady Morna 
MacLeod, whom report falsely proclaimed had been 
divorced, but which not being so, I as true heir of my 
father succeeded. When this news reached my lady 
countess, she rose from her couch, uttered my name 
with a terrible invective, and fell dead. 

My brother Hugh departed soon after. He left me a 
letter, which was read to me by my dear nurse and 
counsellor ; it ran as follows, and I could not but grieve 
over it : “ Ian, my brother,” it said, “ forgive me and 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


319 


mine for the ill we all did thee. ’Tis all the better that 
thou art to keep our house than that I should have 
kept it, seeing thou hast suffered, so thou hast thy just 
reward. Tell her I said it, that thou wert more worthy 
of her and of all than I could be. I go to carve me a new 
name, and chance a new fame ; or if not, at least to die. — 
Your brother Hugh.” 

But I did not altogether lose sight of him. By 
mine influence and that of his mother’s family, he had a 
place among the leading soldiers at the Court, and rose 
in favour with the King ; and going with the young 
Prince James, our cousin, into France, was imprisoned 
with him in England ; but returning at last he married 
a great lady, and founded the cadet house of our family 
of that name. 

But I have other matters to relate. Six months 
after, I was married in great state to her who hath been 
my friend and comforter ever since ; and we have done 
much by our lives to change the nature and reputation 
of our place and name in this country from that of mere 
savage warfare to the gentler arts of peace. In all this 
she hath been my guide and companion. My mother’s 
remains I had removed to a vault, which I built in the 
castle chapel, where she sleeps near that other great 
and proud woman, my stepmother. So strange is the 
mutability of chance and the obliviousness of time and 
death. Mine uncle, the great MacLeod, hath still dwelt 
with his own people, and hath waxed greater than even 
his mighty forefathers in the pride and power of his race 


320 


IAN OF THE ORCADES 


in the Western Islands of Scotland. Mine armourer I 
sent for, as soon as I could ; and he occupies a good place 
at Girnigoe. His skill has long since left him, but he 
still liveth in an extreme old age, and groweth garrulous 
as he groweth older, a strange curse to fall upon a one- 
time silent man. I would add, that his position as 
executioner during my time hath fallen into abeyance. 

I have but one more matter to relate, and it hath 
to do with mine uncle Angus. A week after I had been 
secured in my rightful position, a letter was brought me 
bearing his signature. I have had it in possession ever 
since, and it was the last communication I had from him, 
for he went abroad to France soon after, and there died in 
the end a great Churchman. The letter ran as follows : — 

“ My mad Nephew, — Either it hath been fated that a 
fool should mar the best and wisest plans of men, or else 
thou art a deeper villain than thine uncle Angus. Be 
what thou mayest, I have done with thee and thy ways 
for ever. That wisdom may give thee sight to see the 
ruin thou hast made of thy life is the only remaining 
wish of Angus Sinclair.” 

But read to me by her sweet voice, his and all 
former bitterness had lost its sting for evermore. 








